Dear Chick-Fil-A Playground,
I love you for your glass walls, covered with chicken grease fingerprints, just thick enough to muffle the horrific screams of pleasure within.
I love you for the door that’s heavy enough to slow down a four year old and completely trap a two. I love you for the brief moments of silence you provide.
I love you for that one kid who’s juuuuust young enough to think you’re fun, but juuuuust old enough to teach the little kids about being bullied.
I love you for the parents who forget you’re caring for their child, and I love you for the parent who perches on your little rubber bench, destroying the party buzz you work so hard to create.
I love that you have overly-nice friends who like to refill my drink and pick up my trash.
I love you for swallowing my children’s shoes and inventing the “Where the Fuck Are Your Socks?!?” game.
But most of all, I love that you’re baaaaarely big enough for me to slither up to grab my stubborn ass child when it’s time to leave.