Playground Chatter

     Today we went to Home Depot.  Of course, we had to stop by the park on our way.  There were groups of people having picnics and a birthday party with bunches of pastel-colored balloons.
     We played on the swings for a while.  The girl next to us--who looked just like Miley Cyrus-- was giving underdogs to her daughter. She counted every push in a loud voice. It inspired me, and I gave Clara an underdog.  Simon tried to give her one, too.
     "You don't know how to give underdogs," I said coolly.
     "I know how to give underdogs."
     "That was a side-dog."
     "You have to understand, I'm much taller than you."
     "That's why you have to bend over as you run underneath," I said, demonstrating.
     "I don't want her to get hurt."
     "You don't know how to give underdogs."
     We walked over to a section of the playground that has a little picnic table.  We sat down at the little table and I asked Clara to make me a pancake.  She put a pile of beauty bark in front of me and I pretended to gobble it.  She made one for Simon.  A little blond girl, about five years old, wandered over.  She had very sharp incisors.  She bent down and took Clara's hands.  She smiled and talked to her.  Then she stood back up.
     "I'm the cook," she announced.
     "Great," I said.  "I'd like some french fries."  Simon sat Clara down next to him and she nodded and smiled.
     "Okay, this is McDonald's," the little girl said.
     Suddenly another little girl appeared.  She was maybe six, but very tall, with long, dark hair and an unhappy expression.
     "I'm the cook," she said.
     "No, I'm the cook," Blondie said.
     "Okay, I'm the chef.  You're the cook," replied the dark-haired girl.  She looked at us. "What do you want me to make you?"
     "Mmmmm...I'd like a hamburger," Simon said.
     "And I want a tuna fish sandwich, please," I said.
     The brunette girl turned her back and fiddled around and then turned back and pretended to give Simon his hamburger.
     "But you only get pickles," she said to me.
     "What?  Only pickles?"
     "Okay, maybe a rattlesnake."
     "Yum, rattlesnakes are delicious," Simon said.
     "Yuck!" I said.
     "Rattlesnakes are poisonous," the little brunette girl said.
     "I know, that's what makes them delicious," Simon replied.
     "Alright, now let's play house," the brunette said.  "I'm the mom."
     "Okay, I'm the daughter," the blonde said.
     "No, no, you're the daughter," the brunette said, pointing at me.
     "Okay, so who will Clara be?" I asked.
     By this time Clara had hopped down from her seat at the table and was circling the girls, observing them obliquely without looking at them. The brunette seemed unaware that she was there.
     "Clara's the gramma," Simon suggested.
     "Then I'm the princess," the blonde said.
     "No, I'm the princess," the brunette said, stepping away.  She flipped her hair and twirled her hand above her head.  "I'm going searching for the prince."
     Clara had stopped paying attention to the brunette.  She focused on cars going by on the street across the park.  Her expression held something of endurance in it.  Suddenly she ran away towards the slides.