I’m not cut out for the ref job
My children have spent the wee dawning days of summer re-enacting the World Cup.
On this side, representing the Bipedia, we have the Daughter and the Son.
On the other side, from the United Republic of Retrievers, we have Koa and Brody.
And we’re off! Daughter runs the ball, easily dodges Koa, and heads down the field. Son goes running after, screaming that he wants a turn.
The goalie stands firm. Daughter feigns to the side, then punts the ball past the goalie, who pounces on it, grabs it in his teeth, and runs away.
Son starts screaming: “You can’t use your TEETH!” then grabs the goalie by the scruff. A scuffle ensues.
Daughter grabs the now-flat ball and throws it into the goal. Koa is standing by the back door trying to get out of the stadium and into the concession stand.
Son starts screaming that the goalie sat on him. Daughter is now playing on the swings. Goalie is eating a piece of chalk.
Referee grabs the ball and tries to get the game back on track, but now we’ve degenerated into mass chaos. Not unlike a real World Cup game, as far as I can tell, or maybe rugby.
Ref calls a time-out and runs to get some water. By then, someone’s going headfirst down the slide and the hose is now on. Koa is sitting forlornly under the table with a handful of daisies stuck to her head.
When does school start again?
