The Wet Cement

There is a small park tucked in the woods at the end of our street. 

We call it The Dinosaur Park, not only because the rusty, faded slide is shaped like a T-Rex. It's archaic.

At the beginning of summer, we received a letter stating that new park equipment was going to be installed. (My kids were thrilled for obvious reasons, but I was glad for their [current] unbroken bones).

And it arrived the first week of school.

After dinner one night, we tiptoed to the edge of the yellow caution tape and spied the shiny new slide, rock wall, swing sets and play structure. It was impressive. But it wasn't completed. 

"Look!" my daughter pointed to the swings. "There's wet cement!"

Sure enough, the cement securing the structure to the ground was fresh.  

[Now this is probably where the rule followers should stop reading.]

To read the rest of this story that should be entitled The Day I was Nearly Arrested by an Elderly Park Ranger, click here.

What are you waiting for? I know you want to see me in handcuffs, so go!