One evening last week, Craig, Kate, and I went to the local playground. While that sounds all warm and fuzzy, there are no white picket fences, flower beds, and frolicking children in Ralph Lauren rompers at this playground. The place has potential, but for some reason it attracts litter, unsupervised children whose parents are chainsmoking Marlboro Reds while yelling obscenities into their cell phones, and creepy misfits who shouldn't really be stalking the playground. Quaint little place we live in here. We resist the scathing playground most days, but on this particular night, it was vacant. Figuring it would be the only chance to let Kate play without getting pushed off the slide, we stopped in for a few minutes. As she was climbing up into one of the platforms, she suddenly let out a squeal.
KATE: It says Kate OurLastName. Look Mom, K-A-T-E. Mom, it says Kate. Someone wrote my name up here K-A-T-E, Kate.
ME: Wow honey, does it really say your name?
KATE: Yup, K-A-T-E. Who wrote Kate up here Mom? COME LOOK Mom, come look.
ME: Alright, I'll come up there and look.
Begrudgingly, I hauled my lazy butt up the steps to where Kate was standing. She was jumping, wriggling, and dancing in anticipation. I looked down to where her chubby, dirty, little hand was pointing. Scrawled on the side of the tunnel in crude black letters: I LIKE BIG BUTTS AND I CANNOT LIE.
You know, or Kate for short.