Oh, you yellow arches.
How you taunt me.
How you call to me with your oil drenched, sweet tea offering, voice.
Why do you have to deep fry everything in soy?
Why do you fill your rooms with air-conditioned Play Places?
Beckoning. Calling, “Come. Let your children run and play. Enjoy a book to the sound of their happy laughter. Use the precious free time to write. Let your creativity flow without constant interruption.”
My heart sings, “Yes!” but my stomach (very firmly) cries, “No!”
So, I must leave you.
How will I fill the hours your Play Place has occupied? I do not know.
But I have dreams.
Dreams of fitting into my pre-pregnancy jeans.
Dreams of no tummy aches.
Dreams of paying off our house.
And you don’t fit into my dreams.
So, I will never again pass through your doors.
The screeches of my children will never again ricochet off of your walls.
My stomach will not be plagued by the poor substitute for food you dish out.
I will no longer enjoy the free time to let my creative juices flow…wait a minute.
Who are we kidding!
I’ll see you next week.
This is part of ABC blogging. To see the other Letter M posts visit Ben and Me.