Sunday, November 18, 2007


After the boys opened a few presents yesterday morning, I spent the next 2 hours preparing sandwiches for the party. I managed a 5 minute shower and then packed the car while Tom was out buying balloons and party favors. We headed over to the park to meet the bounce house guy with 70+ cupcakes, bags of chips, cases of soda, water, juice, a helium tank, balloons, balls, vegetable platters, fruit plates, pinatas, and, of course, plates and napkins. I had my permit from the city, just in case. Mom was in charge of bathing the boys, getting them dressed and bringing them to the party.

We got to the party and there was the sign on Section 2 with my name on it. There was also the Persian mafia camped out on the best picnic tables in the area. Immediately, my blood starting boiling. I paid for this park. First, Tom and I just walked around the picnic tables, looking around and glancing over at the squatters every now and then. Eventually, we approached them and told them that we had rented the section and that they would need to leave. And then they just said oh, we're so sorry, we didn't know and they packed up their stuff and left.

Yeah, right.

Of course they argued! Despite the permit I held in my sweaty hand, despite the sign which clearly proclaimed that I, Kelsi ...... had rented the section and that all picnic tables (all 30 of them) were for the exclusive use of my group from 7:00am until dusk. They still argued and puffed their cigarettes and the more they argued, the more my blood boiled and I so just wanted to call the park ranger or my friend the cop and kick them out. But, my husband is good cop and above all, wanted to quit wasting time on this and get our party set up. And, he's generous so he told them that they could stay, even though we had exclusive right to the entire area, we would allow them to have their gathering but they had to move from the best picnic tables. They grumbled a bit and spoke to each other in a language I don't understand, and then I said to Tom, so, should I call the city? And they looked at us and grumbled some more and then Tom said, well we need to set up our party so I'm going to move your stuff for you while you figure out what area you're going to set up in. And they grumbled and puffed on their cigarettes and spoke their language and I got on the phone with my friend Peter and went over to my car and made a big show of being pissed off while I carried supplies over to the tables. One of the grumblers left in a smoky huff, one of the grumblers good-naturedly helped Tom, and the one with the red tattoo of a cross on his forehead glowered at us while he puffed away.

They eventually ended up at the far end of the picnic area which was just perfect for me.

It didn't stop their bratty kids from trying to get in my bounce house while they cast sidelong glances in my direction. I didn't have to worry about it, though.

The kids just told them they weren't invited.

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