"Daddy," my boy asked of me last week, "do you want to go to the chocolate factory?"
I was fascinated. Partly because Jesse was adept at articulating himself; but mostly because we were going to a chocolate factory. Then, my mind swirled in a vortex of endless free-flowing, creamy chocolate syrup as I drifted into caramel-flavoured, candy-coated, sugar encrusted fantasy factory, whereupon a tall flamboyant gentleman (who looked suspiciously like Johnny Depp) in a purple suit and top hat greeted me.
"They're just going to the Beryl factory," Mae said very matter-of-factly. "It's that local chocolate brand," she added. Mae has this unique gift of making the most enchanting journey sound mundane. You'd think she was force-fed chocolates as a kid. Heh.
"Do parents get to go?" I enquired. It was, after all, a field trip organised by Jesse's kindergarten, but I remained hopeful.
"Yes," the wife replied, "but do you really think we should?" Despite the fact that she too was considering it, Mae reasoned that Jesse would stick to us if we did indeed go. That would deprive our clingy little boy the experience of enjoying the trip with his little friends. *sigh* Besides, most of the other parents weren't going.
And so, tomorrow, Jesse goes to a chocolate factory. Meanwhile Daddy will stay at work wondering what it would be like to visit a chocolate factory.
Kids today have all the luck. When I was a kid, my teacher took us on a field trip to a shitty little farm where we saw cows and stepped in their shit. OMG, I think I hate my childhood. :P