Being a child of the seventies and living in a cul-de-sac, school holidays were spent with the neighbourhood kids riding bikes down the big hill, fishing for guppies in the creek and eating Sunny Boys. We went home when it was dark and Mum would not hassle us all day. It was a gloriously simple existence which was peppered with the occasional drama, like the time the local pervert flashes his penis at us or when Stacy trod on a submerged broken bottle and dang nearly took her big toe off.
The pervert was tolerated for some reason and we were just told to stay away from him. Good advice for a 5 year old. Beware the pervert.
It was called playing. As in "I am going outside for a play" or "I am going over to Rhonda's for a play."
Now it is a date. And I for one cannot stand it.
Recently I was talking to an acquaintance who was complaining she was exhausted from her daughter's play date. She had spent the day painting with them, baking with them, making a short film with them and playing fairies. I asked her why she had arranged a series of controlled activities and she told me that she wanted her daughter's "play date" to have had a really good time so she will want to come back for more 'playdates."
SHUT UP.
No, I am serious!
Harry is having a friend over for a play today and I asked him what he had planned. He told me that Will really wants a DS 3D and, as Harry actually has one, he would spend a bit of time showing off about the fact. Awesome.
So that will be a fun day for Will, watching Harry play his DS.
Do you have play dates at your house?
Or do you just play?
Did you have a local pervert?
