“Okay,” she agrees.
We pick the teacups first. At first, Rosie seems excited, but as the ride goes on, she starts to look panicked at the speed, so I pull her into my lap and hold her tight to let her know she’s safe. By the end of it, I feel sick. Rides are not my thing, but I’ll suck it the fuck up if it means this little girl has the best day ever.
Next, we go on the little trains. Rosie squeals in delight as I pray to god that my curvy ass doesn't get stuck in the seat.
By the time we are done with all the rides, Rosie is hungry, so we get food instead of games. “Hot dog, please,” Rosie tells the lady at the food truck.
“Make that two,” I say, handing over a twenty. “And two slushies, please.”
“Do I get one?" she asks with hopeful eyes.
“Of course, silly, I wouldn't get one for myself and not you,” I laugh.
“Daddy doesn’t let me have sweets a lot. He says I'm like a puppy with a case of the zoomies when I eat it,” she giggles.
“Well, today is just you and me. So, I think we can have a little sugar,” I say.
Oh, boy was I wrong. A dog with zoomies? Hell no, more like a possessed chihuahua. She drags me from one place to another, not letting us stay long enough to actually do anything. I just laugh as I follow her while she talks a mile a minute about anything and everything.
We settle on a basketball game, and Rosie just chucks the balls in the air in hopes that they make it into the hoops, but I don't think she cares about winning, and as long as she's having fun, neither do I.
“Isn't she precious?” some soccer mom says as she gives Rosie judgmental eyes. I bet her name is Karen. She looks like a fucking Karen, hair and all.
“She is, isn't she?” I beam, not liking how she's looking at my kid.
“Hyper little thing,” she mocks with a grin.
I look at Rosie. Her mind is no longer on the game, but on a butterfly, she's trying to catch.
Turning back to Karen, I get up into her face. “How about before you judge other people's kids, you take a look at your own,” I say, cringing as I see the little boy, who I'm assuming is her son, picking a booger and then wiping it on her dress before using her skirt as a napkin to get all the chocolate off his face. At least, I hope to god that's what it is. God, kids can be nasty little fuckers.
She has the nerve to look offended.Bitch, please.She glares at me as if I’m being the nosy bitch.
“Oh, and next time, you might wanna be careful about who you feel needs to be called out, cause they may be bigger and badder than yourself. You never know who they are in the dark,” I wink, pulling out my switchblade. Can't wear my daggers in these shorts, and I like to have at least a little something with me at all times. She lets out a gasp, and before she can blink, I bring it up to her face and flick it shut again, making sure the tip of the blade just nicks the tip of her nose.
Her hand flies to her nose as she looks at me in fear. “You’re insane. I really think you need help,” she says, before grabbing her son's grimy little paw and dragging him away.
“Ha! Jokes on you, lady. I don't want any help! I’m fucking perfect, just the way I am,” I shout while laughing, earning me some horrified glares.
“What?” I say, puffing out my chest in a ‘come at me, bro’ gesture, making them flinch, and making me laugh harder. Okay, so I probably look like a nut case right about now. That may be the norm for me, but these strangers are probably not used to hanging around unhinged serial killers.
“It flew away,” Rosie pouts as she watches the Monarch butterfly take off.
“That's okay. It’s getting late. Let's go to the petting zoo; then we can go home, have a bath, and watch a movie before bed. How does that sound?”
“Yay!” she cheers, forgetting all about her little, flying friend, and grabs my hand, dragging me to all the animals.
“MAYBE UNCLE NEO CANget one,” Rosie says, as she pets a baby cow. The cow lets out a little moo before sticking out its tongue and licking Rosie’s cheek. “Ewwwww,” she giggles, wiping off the spit. “No, thanks,” she shakes her head and moves over to the bunny pen. “Bunnies!” She sits down, and I put one on her lap. The cute, little fluff ball is surprisingly calm. Not sure if that's just its temperament or if it’s in shock from having kids maul it all day, poor thing. As much as I love animals, and Rosie is having fun, petting zoos gives me uneasy feelings. I can't help but feel for them, having to be out on display all the time for everyone to touch them against their will. What can I say, PTSD triggers you when you least expect it.
Rosie picks the pony rides as the last thing she wants to do before we leave, and just as I help her off the pony, shouting gets my attention. It’s coming from behind the trailer that is used to bring in the animals. “You evil little shit!” a voice growls. “When we get back, I'm putting your old, useless ass down.”
Hold up, is this guy threatening to kill an animal? Hell, no. Grabbing a hold of Rosie’s hand, we check out the situation.
An older guy with dirty jeans and a flannel shirt kicks a very angry duck. It’s quacking at him as it flaps its wings, but it keeps trying to take a chunk out of his ankles.
“No!” Rosie shouts. “Stop. Don't hurt it!” Rosie lets go of my hand and runs towards the duck. Fuck, all I need is for her to get bit and for Cass to bitch me out.
But as Rosie gets close to the duck, she stops and crouches down like she's trying to call over a dog. “Here, ducky, ducky,” she calls. The duck stops fighting the man at the sound of her voice and turns to look at her. It ruffles its feathers before waddling over to Rosie. Rosie reaches out to pet it, and it lets her, cuddling right into her. Rosie giggles as the duck quacks playfully and waddles back and forth, enjoying the attention.