Luxury Playhouses and Jealous Moms

So my friend comes tra-la-la-ing in today talking about seeing some punk kid’s playhouse with an air conditioner unit in the window.

“I waaaant one!”

She’s a whiner.  AND she has an oddly curious case of OCD that scares people.  Away.  She’s the “Other Mother” of the ridiculous party we hosted a couple of weeks ago.  So while we shake our heads and “tsk tsk” over spoiled brats with opulent play houses…we’re totally jealous.

Now, my kid has a playhouse….and I’ve been saying, “I’m gonna trick that thang OWT!” for over a year now.  But I’m ready this time.  I’ve got the Tiffany Blue paint, the plantation shutters for windows and plan to install walls, steps and a door.  Maybe a little mulch…white picket fence…tulips, cabbage roses…okay, I’m getting ahead of myself.

But these playhouses you’re about to see….these playhouses here?  Yeah, my kid would be evicted and I’d take up residence in one of these things with a deadbolt on the door and a sign out front: “Because I said so!”

She’d have to bathe and feed herself while I lounged in a bean bag reading trashy romance novels and eating Milano cookies.  And my friend…the OCD one…she’d be doing the same thing if her kids had a house out back.  Sometimes when they go to bed, she rides around in their Escalade drinking cocktails and doing doughnuts in the empty lot next door that noone will buy because of her big-as-Texas trampoline hogging up the place.  She’ll deny this…but I speak the truth.

So feast your eyes upon this precious debauchery and try not to feel like a loser because you can only give your kid half a carport and a bucket of sidewalk chalk to play with.