My Hubby's Take

Hubby had me laughing so hard the day we were driven out of the park by the obnoxious parents, I asked him if he would like to write about it for my blog. So here it is....my hubby's take:

The plan: EVERY KID WANTS A DRUM..LET'S GIVE HIM ONE!

I'm a drummer, but I admit that the instrument can be as annoying as it can be exiting...here's the deal:

We will carry a small, loud drum with us when we plan to go to a large, outdoor public area. The drum will appear immediately following the close-proximity appearance of the kinder-katastrophe, provided the family had the option of choosing any one of
multiple, more distant sites to settle on..as the volume of the brood rises, so will the volume/ intensity of the 'doomp-doomp-doomp'...the shocked stares will inevitably follow..'How dare someone disturb our' - WHAT?! Peace and quiet?!! The drumming, however irrelevant and devoid of melody or purpose, can't possibly be more annoying (or even louder) than the kids..and after all, if the children's shrieks, crying and screaming are 'music to a parent's ears'...hey, all my favorite music has drums, and it's all about me..IT'S THE PERFECT COMBO!! Of course, the arbitrary, neanderthalic pounding will stop as soon as the parents show the normal, adult manners they ostensibly had BEFORE breeding, and vacate the chaos to a more remote area.

And if the arbitrary, neanderthalic PROCREATION would slow down worldwide, we could ALL more likely relax (at the current birth rate, the world food supply will most likely be depleted by mid century..you wanna talk screaming and tantrums..?!), and I could devote my rhythmic energies to more subtle musical pursuits..like replicating JOHN BONHAM!!! ; )

But wait - the story gets better...

The intrusive ignorance of the 'all about the babies' mentality escalated to a uniquely male problem just before we left. I went into the nearby men's room..and whaddaya know! There was little Heather/Ashley/Brittany insert middle-class-approved female child name here ) sitting directly across from the urinal, watching daddy pee!! Why mommy couldn't have escorted her into the adjacent women's room is, I guess, one of those things that parents are referring to when they say, "When you have kids, you'll understand". Daddy saw me and said, "Honey, go sit over there" (referring to a bench out of view of the urinals ), but of course, the child was as obedient as most children are in our brave new society, where anything resembling consequence is tantamount to abuse..so she stayed put. Nonetheless, I was now in the position of deciding whether to exercise my divine right, as an externally-genitized person, to stand there while draining the bilge, and possibly expose my meat-and-2-veg to the tyke (whom, it should be noted, was about 4 or 5 years old..and not potty trained?!!), or exercising decorum that daddy didn't have, and slinking off to the stenching, clogged stall toilet..which I opted to do.

So..here's another plan:

I propose to carry a large, black dildo, secreted (if possible!) on me, into the restroom on any other such occasion. I will nonchalantly step to the urinal, do my thang, and as I step away, turn around (it is a MEN'S room, after all!) allow 'myself'' to flop hither and yon a few times before I zip up..smile at dad and little missy, and cheerfully say: "This thing's a pain in the ass..but AT LEAST THE TRANSPLANT WAS A SUCCESS!!!"...I GUARANTEE mom will be the defecation director from that day on...