Tuesday, January 13, 2009

From 08/27/07: White Trash Pool Party

August 27, 2007 - Monday
White Trash Pool Party Category: Life
So today I remembered that I had a slip n' slide in the garage that we got about 4 years ago. Actually, my friend Heidi bought it for a party we called Death Row Dinner. This was a potluck in which you brought the food that you would want served to you the day before you were executed, your last meal. We were originally going to call it the Last Supper, but I thought it would be too sacrilegious. So, my son donned his favorite outfit for the occasion, his birthday suit. That kid sheds his clothes the minute he hits the door. At EVERY function we attend, whether family or public, he requests to "be naked." We are working on the no nudity in public till you're 18, but it's not working so well. So, my husband sets up the slip n' slide (SNS so that i do not have to keep spelling it out) in the backyard. Let me tell you, those SNS's are not what they were when I played on them. As Ray said, they used to be like a long crappy trashbag. Now, there are stakes to hold them down, the water showers over the entire slide, and there is a bumper at the end to stop you. No more fat burns from the part that was not getting wet and no more sliding off the end into a sticker patch. Thankfully, we do not have stickers in our yard. Here is an aside, when I was growing up, our yards were COVERED with stickers. I never thought much of it, but now that I do, having your backyard covered in stickers is pretty white trash. Now, if your backyard is a pasture, that is one thing. But if you have a fenced in yard and you cannot afford to put in decent, weed free and sticker free grass, that is pretty trashy. I am pretty sure that many of you that are reading this are offended because your own backyards are like this. Well, then this is your wakeup call. Give your children a place to play without having to wear shoes or constantly worry about tripping and falling to their doom. If you don't have kids, then just do it for dignity's sake. Grow some pride in your landscape! Alright, so my husband set up the SNS. My son immediately goes to the bumpered end because there is a fountain of water coming out the end of the hose that runs down the side of the SNS. He played there and I asked him if he wanted to run and slide and he said no. After a while, I asked him if he wanted Daddy to show him how. He said yes. So Ray goes into the house to get his swimming trunks, or so I thought. Instead, he came out with his shirt off and took off his shorts. He is standing there in his boxers and I asked him why he did not go get his trunks. He said because he would have been in there a long time and I would have gotten mad about that. Oh, and I would not get worked up about him parading around our backyard in his underwear?! And on top of that, he had not shaved his back in many months (see my blog about his back hair). No, I was not mad, but geez I am sure the neighbors' eyes were bleeding from the sight in my yard. Naked 3 year old and half naked 34 year old. So, Ray proceeds to show my son how to slide down the SNS. When he reaches the end where my son is, his white striped boxers are essentially see through. My son points the water hose at Ray's butt and the crack is in full view through his underwear. It is like some nasty wet tshirt contest. I thought that my son would take over the sliding, but no. He was content to play with the hose. Ray got up, with great excitement and did another pass over the SNS. He determined that he needed to rearrange the positioning of the SNS so that he could get more of a running start. You should have seen the smile across his face. I bet it hurt. He moved the SNS 2 more times trying to find just the perfect spot for HIM to play. My poor son just wanted to play with the hose, but he was just a speed bump on my husband's road to funtown. Well, the boys had a great time this evening. The SNS is still staked out in the stickerless backyard and I am sure Ray will be thinking about it all day at work tomorrow.

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