It’s Sunday, 5:37PM, in July, and the year doesn’t matter. The location is also immaterial as this situation has been playing itself out since most of the hair on human backs have thinned out at the start of the Renaissance Period. Sunday morning started with enthusiasm as the entire day was dedicated to family entertainment. Along with the wife, the 4 year old, the 2 year old, and a trunk full of Wart Mart crap designed to amuse children (but befuddle adults who have to assemble this garbage with Chinese instructions), it’s off to the lake you go. Just as soon as you turn around and pick up the 4-year-old that snuck out of the car when you were stuffing expensive, defective junk in your trunk. All accounted for, Sir! Two hours and 113 questions later, the family arrives. A quick drive through the parking lot and not a stall to be had. No problem: 2 blocks down the road is a shoulder at a 45°angle from level that will accept your ride. As the 4-year-old opens the door, the entire picnic basket that was sitting next to her rolls into the soggy, stagnant, ditch water. As you attempt to retrieve it, your right leg sinks 4-feet down in black goo. This scares the snake and the muskrat that were after that basket back into the marsh. No problem, we’ll just stop at a restaurant on the way home. Burning the soles off everybody’s feet on the 400° asphalt hike to the lake gets everyone in the mood. Luckily, the toys stay in the trunk. After 2 hours of whining and throwing sand in each other’s eyes, the children are hungry. Departing the lake, the next order of business is finding a bad, family-style restaurant, complete with an incompetent waitress. Success. The parents look at each other and wonder what the hell they did to deserve this. Oh ya, sex. Well, there’ll be none of that anymore. Daddy’s looking forward to going to his crappy job tomorrow and mommy is anticipating a night of diarrhea from the two monsters who swallowed half the lake.