Playground Fantasies

1) Free mimosas before noon

2) Free champagne after that

3) I am in charge.

4) Shade

5) That woman who is the probable mother of the savage who will not stop torturing my child has her head squashed suddenly by a falling anvil, as in Road Runner.

6) Alternatively: I walk towards her, ask her, "Is that your son?"  She nods.  I say, "You'd better watch out" in menacing tone.  She looks satisfactorily terrified.  I am badass.  She then says, "What did he do?" with quavering voice.  I tell her all about his jumping so hard on the shaky bridge while Ari was walking across  that it made him cry.  I tell her that a child her son's age (5?) should not delight in the misery of barely 3 year olds.  "It is not natural, " I say.  "Beware the ides of March," I say.  I look sinister.  She shivers and begins to cry a little.  Then she starts to beg me to leave her alone. All the other families and I cower around her, like we are the witches in Macbeth and she is the kettle, with all the newts and other dreck in it.  We start to moan like zombies.  Steam rises up from the ground.  We all look deeply into her eyes, as if into the witches' brew.  She is so scared she wets herself, and then we all laugh and disappear.

The reality was more like this:  I asked, "Is that your son?"  She said that he wasn't, but she knows him, and she is sorry for his behavior.  What the hell am I supposed to do with that?  Where do I put my maternal rage?