Quiet fast-food meal turns to havoc quickly
Laura Snyder

My husband and I had an unusual experience at a fast food restaurant the other day.

While our children ate outside and watched other children climb on the plastic jungle, we ate in relative peace inside and enjoyed a conversation that did not include one potty word.

That peace would be short-lived, however, as I noticed a little boy standing directly in front of our window. As I watched, a look of concern came across his face and I saw a liquid stain spread across the crotch of his shorts and make its way down his legs. The liquid dripped off the hem of his shorts and saturated his socks.

When he was done, he apparently thought that this was no excuse not to have a good time. After all, there was a giant yellow slide attached to a blue and red spaceship right in front of him!

He ran, stiff-legged, toward the flight of plastic stairs in the manner of someone who was trying to keep cold pants away from his sensitive parts.

His socks made little wet footprints on his way and his pants dripped a trail similar to the bread crumbs left by Hansel and Gretel. His mother would have no trouble finding him, I thought.

The idea of all the other children following him up those stairs, into the space ship and down the yellow slide (which would be considerably more slippery) made me a little queasy.

Then I noticed that my youngest child had finished his food and was starting to climb the stairs. We waved, knocked on the window and gestured frantically, but of course, he didn't see or hear us.

We abandoned our food - we couldn't eat it anyway - and ran out the playground door. Our panicked faces probably startled many French fry-gobbling patrons as they looked around for the fire.

We reached the playground just in time to keep our other two children from going up the stairs and stepping in the yellow puddles with their bare feet.

The youngest, however, was already at the top. There was no sign of the wet child either, so he must be at the top too; no doubt enjoying his fantasy of flying through some celestial nebula in his wet pants.

I hoped to get my child to come down the slide before the wet kid but I knew he wouldn't hear me. Being in a plastic space ship with a bazillion other kids is like being 3 feet from the amps at a rock concert.

I am long past the size and weight required to climb those plastic steps - even if I wanted to. So I did the only thing I could do under the circumstances.

I walked, gingerly, over to the tube slide, avoiding the yellow puddles, and bellowed into it.

"Come down here…" OOF!

Someone came down the slide and rammed full force into my leg. It was the kid with the weak bladder. Unfortunately, he was still trying to keep his soggy pants away from his body, so his legs were apart and they straddled my leg when we collided. Oh…my…gosh! Now my jeans had been baptized as well. His mother finally collared him with a regretful smile in my direction. I sent a weak smile back and shook my pant leg a little…as if that would help.

Now that the slide was also contaminated, I quickly turned to call up the tube so as to prevent my child from coming down that way.

Just as I opened my mouth, I got kicked in the stomach by him. For some reason, he decided to come down the slide on his back with his feet in the air.

Disgusted, we walked back to the car. I hobbled, stiff-legged, to keep my wet pants away from my body.

Honestly, those fast food restaurants should provide showers and a change of clothes.

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Contact Laura Snyder at lsnyder@ lauraonlife.com, or visit her website www.lauraonlife.com for info about her books.