Wouldn't it be great if the birthday party I took Miss O to today were the complete opposite of what I expected? That would be great, but, of course, then we wouldn't be talking about MY LIFE WHICH IS COMPLETELY PREDICTABLE!!!!!!!!!!!
It started out okay -- got to the Y, herded the kids into the "Kids Gym," which is basically a padded room with a climbing wall. They loved it. Ran around, climbed, fell, didn't bleed. Some Ritalin kid was trying to whip a giant purple ball at all the other kids' heads for a while -- had to laugh when he totally bit it trying to jump over this one padded ramp. What?! The fucker deserved it.
Cake and presents followed. What's with the fucking goodie bags, by the way?! Look, it's your kid's birthday, and I didn't see any "No gifts, please" on the invitation, so don't try to alleviate your fucking guilt by handing my kid a plastic bag filled with three weeks worth of crappy-ass candy, okay?! And Miss O sure as hell doesn't need any more shitty plastic whistles/eye-patches/pencils/hand-clappy-sticks/magnifying glasses/oversized dice/rubber lizards-snakes-dinos/superballs/bracelets/Spongebob figurines. She's got a fucking dentist to give her that crap. Just take the goddamn gift for your kid and then drive the goddamn goodie bags over to the Dora landfill so they can choke a few more rats and seagulls.
So, then it's off to the pool! Whee-hoo! Of course, the mom takes the three girls to the girl's locker room and I get to take birthday boy, violent older brother, normal boy and CRAAAAAZY red-headed kid to the men's locker room. Have you ever tried to get four kids you've never seen before, all hopped-up on dino cake and shitty goodie-bag candy, into their bathing suits? It ain't pretty, lemme tell you. And you can't really raise your voice at them to get their shit together or even help them get their suits on because a) there are a bunch of naked old men in the locker room watching and 2) they might go tell their moms that Miss O's dad yelled at them and then pulled off their Scooby-Doo underwear.
It was a fucking nightmare.
I finally herded them out to the pool and things got a little better. For about one hour. Then I had to take the little satan spawns back into the locker room to get them dressed again. Remember how shitty I said it was getting them into their suits? Yeah, that was pretty shitty. But getting them into the showers, out of their wet suits, toweled off and then back into their clothes was the biggest pig-fuck I've experienced in years. I came THIS CLOSE to locking all four of them in lockers and bolting. Especially that red-headed kid. What is it with redheads? It's like they didn't gestate long enough and they're "not quite done." Their hair didn't darken enough, their skin is almost clear -- I think they freak me out more than twins do. They're nuts, these little redheads. Freaky.
I finally got them outta there, though I'm pretty sure they were all wearing each others' underwear. Not my problem. I thanked the mom, grabbed Miss O and fled. Miss O had a great time, which is what it was really all about. And all it cost me was about 3 gallons of stomach acid spraying the inside of my colon for three hours.
Swimming party for four-year-olds! These people!