sandbox

playing in sand is barely better than playing in dirt.

dump trucks suck, castles suck, well when they're made of sand they suck, and dirty kids suck.

"wanna make another awesome castle kiddo?" i ask my dirty reality friend.

he's managed to bury his legs in the stuff, for the hundredth time today. luckily he has no fashion sense to one more pair of ruined romp a roo pants won't mean a thing one way or the other.

"i want to play dump truck again." perfect, dump truck.

he pulls this yellow plastic toy truck up on top of his sandy legs, its wheels don't work anymore cause genius tried to drive it through wet concrete when the city repaved the road two weeks ago. he cried like a girl until his parents bought him a video game, further showing they have no spine and he has no future as a level headed individual.

i pile some sand in the broke down toy dump truck's bucket. i'm having the time of my life.

i darling little girl comes over to our side of the sandbox with a barbie convertible. she sits down next to sandy pants and drives the pink corvette in circles. she makes plane noises instead of car noises. she's a genius. they're perfect for each other.

maybe i'll get lucky and they'll become best friends, making my existence pointless and giving me a way out of this particular job.

"i think she wants to play with you buddy-o," please don't embarrass yourself in front of the lady.

he freezes up as her barbie-mobile side swipes his turd truck. i can hear him hold his breath.

"hi," she says to him.

he looks at me out of the corner of his eye. he's froze. this is the beginning of the kids terribly unsuccessful life with women. rejection will follow him closely, two cars back one lane over, he'll barely be able to spot it until it's too late. when he gets the nerve to actually speak to the actual sex. today isn't that day i fear.

"i think she's into you kid, say something before you ruin it."

his lip curls up in disgust. sweat forms on his brow. why in the world would i expect anything more. he still thinks girls are carriers of disease and barely talks to his mommy unless he's got the ice cream jones or doesn't love the last gaggle of toys he's been showered with. anything outside of the sob, whine, pout dialect is really beyond his intelligence.

she stares at him for another moment before deciding he's not worth her time, even at eight she has some standards.

barbie drives her little car away from the kid and i, and the kid breathes easier.

"well what now buddy," i ask.

"castles."

i should have known.