"I Don't Care."

So we walk up to the park. When we get there, a gaggle of giggling girls is on its way out, leaving one little boy and his dad.

The dad's sitting on the bench, totally not playing. He gets out the phone and makes a call. He's not smiling, and frankly he's a little off-putting. His little boy is about 5, rambling around the playground looking lonely and bored.

Naturally, we're a soft target. Before you know it, Little Boy has Iain by the hand and they're climbing up the slide together. He's talking a mile a minute, explaining to Iain that he's 5 and so he can go down the pole but Iain's too little.

Anyway, later on, he's stuck on us like velcro. It's half cute, half weird.

I'm pushing Iain on the swing, and Little Boy is talking about a game he likes to play in the pool. He talking and talking and talking and at some point Charles and I realize that Iain - on the swing - is saying, "I don't care." "I don't care." "I don't care."

Time to go.