I have a bone to pick with the f*cker that came up with the phrase, “A walk in the park.” This culturally accepted idiom is nothing more than a crock of sh*t, and I’ve taken it upon myself to divulge the truth behind this most horrid of lies!
Many of you out there may (or may not) have this notion that being a stay-at-home mom is nothing more than a lovely pastime in which we mommies spend the day laughing and frolicking with our little ones. A little arts and craft here, followed by teatime and, oh wait for it…a walk in the park. Well, let me tell you a thing or two about going to the park. I have a 22-month-old daughter and a 60 lbs. bulldog that think they are both entitled to my undivided attention. Therefore, when it’s time to go to the park I can’t leave the house without the two in tow. First of all, my daughter insists on leaving the house with a posse big enough to put the Biebs himself to shame. There are 3 babies, a lamb she insists on calling a bear, and her trusted sidekick “Pepe” (otherwise known as ‘the poor homeless-looking duck that has seen better days’). Once the crew is ready we have to make our way down ten steps that lead to my front door. Ten steps, no biggy right? You try maneuvering through a herd of stuffed toys, a toddler and a raging bull (the dog) without breaking an extremity. NOT easy! May I remind you, we haven’t even left the house yet!
Next comes the little task of getting the stroller out the car. I don’t have a garage and am thus forced to keep two of my three (yes, three) strollers in the car. So, once outside, I have to threaten my child so that she’ll stay put by the side of the car or worse yet, actually strap her into the car seat so that I may extract a stroller from the trunk. Did I mention I have to do this with the dog leash tied to my ankle? Why ankle you say? Well, because I quickly learned that tying the dog to your yoga pants is a bad idea when you’re trying to avoid flashing your neighbors. I’m pretty sure it’s no coincidence the pervy 90-year-old that lives a few doors down just so happens to be watering his plants every time I go out for a walk with the two rascals.
By the time we actually start walking I’m already exhausted and in need of a refreshment. But that’s when the real fun starts. The nearest dog park is about a ten-minute walk away. On a good day we make it there in twenty. Every five feet my child decides to toss over one of her posse members. I stop, I pick up the discarded groupie only to realize she has unstrapped herself from the stroller and is now chasing a family of ducks. Now I have to bribe her with food to a) avoid a duck attack (I do not mess with a mama duck, talk about badass bitches) and b) get her back into the stroller unscathed. The only problem with the bribing (besides totally messing with my daughter’s psyche) is that my dog has now caught onto the fact that there is food around, which means she will now start to reenact a scene straight out of Jaws. Let’s recap: navigating stroller with one hand, administering snacks with the other, all the while using one leg as a shield from the fur shark on a leash AND trying to propel this fiasco of a trio forward so that we may finally arrive at the park.
Once at the actual park, I usual opt for tying my dog to the fence so she may frolic in the shade (lucky bitch) while I “play” with the offspring. Let me define play: the act of pretending to love repeatedly going down a slide made for small humans no larger than 3 feet tall and 40 lbs. while your child looks on totally unamused. Furthermore, I have to be on guard at all times in case I have to bolt over to where my dog is to intervene an oncoming swarm of snotty toddlers wanting to “pet the doggy.” If there is one thing I’ve learned as a mommy it’s this: under no circumstance is a child other than your own allowed to come within 4 feet of your dog. Parents are assholes that love blaming dogs for the most incoherent things, “My child spilled his juice because of that dog!” Yeah fucking right lady, ‘cause my dog knows how to open that juice box and squirt it all over your child’s shirt?!?!? So now I have a strict “no petting the doggy” policy, which of course makes frequenting the park that much more interesting. Tired yet? I sure as hell am, but wait, did I mention that I live in South Florida where the temperature averages in at 88° with 50% humidity? Three words: sweat baby sweat.
Need I stress my argument? A walk in the park should, in fact, be an Olympic sport for which one requires both physical and mental endurance. One must rigorously train to maintain a certain level of agility and mental acuteness throughout the year; especially during the hotter months of the year, you know March thru October. Should anyone disagree, I challenge you to a park off. Hit me up and it’s on!
N.B: I have done extensive research into the origins of the phrase “A walk in the park,” with no avail. Should anyone happen to come across any useful information that can shed light on my investigation, I would greatly appreciate you contact me immediately. I will not rest until justice prevails.