Don't Fuck With My Kids

by Jill Veldhouse
Originally Published: 
A little boy in a blue shirt showing his middle finger and sticking his tongue out

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where something completely unexpected happens in the most unlikely of situations? I mean like way outside of what seems contextually normal and/or appropriate given the circumstances. Then there you sit, frozen in time, unable to make heads or tails of what is going on directly in front of you, to the point that you can’t…stop…staring, regardless of how awkward and/or shameful it makes you feel.

I should have known better. On a crisp fall day with winds gusting upwards of 20mph, the lakeside park should not have been my first choice as far as an afternoon activity with my son goes. Nonetheless, he wanted to go and I really had no excuse to say no, aside from the fact that I just really didn’t want to.

We arrive and I immediately realize that I had terribly underestimated the chill factor and wind speed. Immediately, we encounter two women (upper 30s at best) who quite clearly didn’t get the weather memo either, being that they were dressed in their skimpy yoga apparel finest (probably mid-40s on second thought). Make-up, trendy work-out clothes, and enthusiasm dripping from every orifice of their overly exposed bodies. Three things that at the end of the day when combined all together just really piss me off.

“Don’t even try to befriend me ladies (they seemed like the type). We are not compatible. Trust me.”

I do my best to avoid having to make awkward small talk by walking to the opposite side of the playground with my bitchy resting (non-makeup) face in tow.

For some reason, I could not stop staring at them. I’ve just never seen a couple of adults so unbelievably comfortable doing something so circumstantially odd in all of my life.

Yoga Pants #1 standing next to her stroller handing a seemingly endless supply of snacks to her invisible baby without so much as a glance down (Should I tell her that the real baby was swept away by a wind gust unnoticed 3 minutes prior?) while visiting with Yoga Pants #2 as they “watched” their preschool aged children play from afar.

I guess it seemed perfectly reasonably (sans the ridiculous exercise get-ups and floating baby).

And then it happened.

Wait for it…

They grabbed the giant dumbbells.

Of course they did.

The sequence of events that followed can only be described as the direct antithesis of what is considered appropriate behavior in a public park (and probably most gyms), not to mention the total disregard for their kids who were off in the distance…being absolute assholes to my son.

Let’s be honest. Kids are annoying. The most annoying kid in the world is the kid that is not your own. I fully realize that any given person on the street might think that my kid is the most annoying kid on the playground. To which I would respectfully reply, “You are wrong.”

I have one very simple requirement when it comes to being able to play with my kids.

Don’t be an asshole.

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He was the kid that walked up the slide so my kid couldn’t go down. The kid that stood in front of the slide so my kid couldn’t go down. The kid that screamed in my son’s face and then spread eagle blocked him from going anywhere on the playground.

I was standing right there. Looking at that little shithead without blinking and then biting through my tongue as I very sternly suggest, “We all have to be nice and take turns,” and then under my breath mumble in the general direction of my son, “Kick his ass.”

A very intense stare down ensued which at the end of it all, I think that little prick won.

Yoga pants #2 arrives, “Is my kid not being nice?”

Me, “Which kid is yours?”

YP #2, “The one with the green coat.”

Me, “Yes.”

YP #2, “Yes?”

Me, “Yes, that is correct. Your kid is not being nice.”

YP #2 in a canary sing-song voice, “Everyone has to be nice to everyone. Okay?”

And then she left. Walked clear across the playground, grabbed her ridiculously large dumbbell, sucked in her tight ass, and continued on with her even more ridiculous work-out.

“Seriously. You look like an idiot. And FYI, your kid just flipped you the bird.”

Maybe I’m jealous because I don’t have a tight ass?

Maybe I’m insecure and lonely and just need some friends?

Maybe I would feel better about myself if I ventured out with some make-up and a freshly pressed form fitting outfit?

Maybe I need to buy a dumbbell and bring it to the park so I can throw it at the mean kid while sucking in my core musculature to maximize the physical benefit to my body as I launch it across the playground?

I have a tighter ass just thinking about it.

Don’t fuck with my kids.


Related post: 9 Assholes Your Kid Will End Up Friends With

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