Dear Space Invaders,
I knew you might be a problem. I was hoping you wouldn’t be. I was hoping I wouldn’t run into you, but whenever you hope for something like this not to happen, it usually does.
It wasn’t Labor Day, it was Day of the Space Invaders.
I tried to prepare myself and avoid contact with you at all costs. I marked our territory with sand toys, Tommy Bahama Costco beach chairs, towels, boogie board, and a Radio Flyer wagon. I even dug our regular giant hole in the sand, deep enough for cannonballs and construction-building action for both my five-year old and two year-old. I thought it would be enough.
But you are who you are.
I should have bought that yellow crime scene caution tape and surrounded the perimeter. Maybe that would have worked.
But with all these people there I doubt that even CSI tape would have helped.
Now even though I had mentally prepared myself for your presence and the many cult followers of your ideology, I did not take into consideration that you would take it to another level. I did not think you would drop off your kids at my beach site.
The digging of an awesome hole does not give you or any other parent the right to drop off your kids, while you and your posse relax, talk to your friends, read magazines, send text messages, or sleep. I’d like to do those things too, but when you go to the beach with kids there’s no down time. You should know that already.
So this is just a reminder that the digging of an awesome hole does not mean I am running a day care.
I mean I don’t mind our kids hanging out, splashing around, playing in the hole, or playing baseball with each other. I don’t. I like having fun with kids. I like having fun with my kids. It would be good if you had fun with your kids too. And it would be great if you were present so that you could check your kid so he didn’t eat sand or drown in the ocean. Drowning sucks.
And your whole my-kids-can-play-with-your-kids’-toys-it’s-O.K.-let’s-all-share fake speech is a load crap. I’m calling you out. It’s crap. You know it. I know it. I know you know that I know it. You’re just trying to lure my kids into a false sense of beach play so that you can bail. You’re gonna bail.
You’ve done it before.
I’m onto you now, mastermind. There will be no sharing of any kind.
I mean for crying out lout, I could be some kind of pedophile. You don’t know me, but there you are leaving your kids in my care and walking away. You think that just because I’ve got a nice face that I’m not crazy. Well … I’m not, but I could be. That’s the point, I could be. You know who else had a nice face … Ted Bundy. Apparently chicks thought he was hot, and we all know what happened there.
So for everyone’s safety you should really dig your own hole. Awesome holes can be dug by almost anybody. So man up, grab your Target shovel, and get to work.