My brother and I had a rather phenomenal tree house when we were growing up. It had three levels complete with a sandbox underneath, a bright yellow slide, three ladders and a professional-grade trapeze set. (At least I’m pretty sure it was professional grade; we performed some pretty amazing acrobatic routines.)
My dad built it himself and we used to drag the garden hose up to the first level for our birthdays to make an official “water slide” in the backyard. Of course, with a three-level tree house, the likelihood of unsuspecting toddlers plummeting to their deaths is greatly increased so my parents had a rule: if you couldn’t get into the tree house by yourself, then you were too young to play in it.
There were three ways in: a wooden ladder next to the slide for beginners, a rope latter on the other side for intermediate climbers and finally a super-scary medieval torture device that led straight to the third-floor penthouse. (It consisted of a single strand of rope with little rope loops covered in rubber. I hated it.)
Now that spring has finally come to the City of Brotherly Love, most Philadelphians have lost their minds. They’re doing crazy things like walking around in flip flops, waking up at the crack of dawn to go jogging and drinking iced coffees even though it’s only March. The yuppies of Queen Village, however, are the worst. They’ve decided that fresh air and playgrounds aren’t good enough for their little darlings.
Better bring them to the coffee shop instead.
I’ve considered renaming my blog “Kat B*tches About Little Kids” but I don’t dislike little kids. In fact, I rather adore them, especially when I’m working with them, but on my time off? Not so much. I think the world would be a much better place if the same rules that applied to our three-level tree house applied to coffee shops, i.e. If you are two young to walk into the coffee shop by yourself, you belong at Chucky Cheese.
And, while we’re on the subject:
If you order chocolate milk, you belong at Chucky Cheese.
If you feel compelled to sing nursery rhymes, you belong at Chucky Cheese.
If you love knock-knock jokes but can’t tell them correctly no matter how hard you try, you belong at Chucky Cheese.
If you’re here to “do homework” and not “to study” like proper college student, you belong at Chucky Cheese.
If you need more than four sugar packets to render your drink palatable, you belong at Chucky Cheese. (Note: previously I would have said two sugar packets, but The Wedding Date is forever telling me that he likes his coffee like he likes his women—“light and sweet”—and he takes his coffee with approximately six gallons of sugar so I’m upping my allowance for his sake).
If you cannot identify the various desserts behind the counter by name and must instead point your grubby little finger whilst whining, “I waaannnnt thaaaaaaaaat!” you belong at Chucky Cheese.
If you think jumping, stamping or hurling yourself onto the floor comprise appropriate forms of conversation, you belong at Chucky Cheese.
If Dora the Explorer appears on your shoes, your sunglasses, your fleece jacket or any part of your person, you belong at Chucky Cheese.
Have I missed anything?
PS: I know, I know. I was supposed to provide a full report on my evening spent with The Wedding Date and his children (or at the very least, the afternoon at the Flower Show with my grandmother) but with only a week to go until my student’s first competition, I spent the weekend hemming, bedazzling and running rehearsals instead… bear with me.
- 20 Things Kindergarten Teaches Mommy (vivsmom.wordpress.com)