Local temperature: hotterthanfuckinghell for the past few days. i’d managed to ditch work, and get poolside by 4pm. Silence. Between baking in the heat, and dipping in the cool, chlorinated water, i was enjoying a fine decompression cycle.
Fifteen minutes into my human laundry operation, i heard a gaggle* of boyz descending upon the communal facility. Five of them, ranging in age from about eight to twelve years old. Equipped with squirt guns, they barreled through the gate, and dive-bombed the water as i was relaxing on a lounge chair…
Their mother/keeper and a friend settled in a few minutes later on their chairs, a few yards away from me. As the boisterous boyz played a noisy game of “Capture, Drown and Torture”, their mom said “Watch out that you don’t get other people wet with those, okay?”
i was the only ‘other people’ there, so i appreciated that she was attempting to manage the chaos.
Within minutes, however, it was clear she was going to SUCK at managing the chaos.
Running on the concrete, taking one of the metal pipes apart, and very nearly drowning the youngest. “Don’t squirt water in his face! You hear me?” They were having a blast on a hot day. “I said you need to stop running, okay?” The noise didn’t bother me, as they were having fun.
It was when i got hosed with the squirt gun unexpectedly that i started to get a bit miffed.
Mom: Boys! Be careful with those! And stop running! [to me] Sorry!
i waved it off. Went back to dunk in the pool again to re-soak my body and swimsuit. As i walked down the steps into the pool, one of the kids ran past Mom (who was now back to yakking with her friend), and then cannonballed himself into the pool nearly on top of me.
Mom hollered some more ineffective parental-sounding statements, and the boyz went back to their chaotic play.
It wasn’t the noise, or even the splashing, that finally got me to leave. It was having to listen to one of those milque-toasty, door-matty, victim-moms pretending to be an adult, while a herd of kids run her over like a sailcat on hot asphalt.
Started to pack up my gear. Put the towel around my waist, slipped on my sandals and headed toward the gate.
Mom: Sorry they’re so loud!
daisyfae [cheerfully]: Well, being sorry and actually doing something about it are apparently two different things! But hey, enjoy the rest of your day!
pic found here, along with a nicely written post on wimpy-ass parenting.
* What’s the collective noun for a group of boyz? In this case, i’d have to go with “A Feral of Boyz”. For crunchy, middle-aged broads like me? Pretty sure it’s a “Snark”…