Not Playing at the Playpark

Famke sat on a bench watching Precious run around like a chicken with her head cut off. She had done an internet search for any indoor playgrounds and had been pleasantly surprised to find one near a local shopping center. She had made quick work of finding necessities for the rest of the week, managed to pick up a couple of Christmas presents for everyone after making Precious promise to keep the secret. Then she’d fed her chicken nuggets and fries in the food court, which apparently was food the child existed on, according to the security agent with them.

The security agent had called for backup the minute Famke had decided on shopping in a mall and going to a play centre. She now had a crew of five with them hovering, with one keeping decidedly close.

Now she was sitting watching the child clamour up a ladder so she could go down a slide for the twentieth time while she screamed “watch me, Famke”. Her little face was sweaty, and Famke knew the line