Porthos' Playdate

We don't do playdates at this house.  If we did have a playdate with friends it would probably be with one of the three widows that we live next door to.

However, we were the snookered in this last unplanned playdate.  D'Artagnan was picking the kids up from school and he called me to ask if Porthos could go play with B. over at his house.
"B.?" I asked.  "Never heard of him."
"He says he's in Porthos' class."
"What's he like?"
"He seems decent."
"Where does he live?  What's his phone number?  Is this okay with his Mom?"
"B. says that he already asked his Mom and she said Porthos could come over."
"Okay, but you have to drive him over, check it out, and tell Porthos you will pick him up in one hour and twenty-three minutes."

One hour and twenty-six minutes later, Porthos came in the front door -- all slimy smiles.
"How was the playdate?" I asked.
"SO GREAT!" (This was a VERY unusual answer.  I decided to dig further.
"Really?  Why is that?" I asked nonchalantly, but my heart is pounding.
"B. has the coolest toy."
"What do you mean?"
"It blows up things.  We blew up cans, bottles, old toys, sticks!  Anything we could find."
"Where did you blow these things up?  Did you have protective glasses?"
"No.  We blew them up in the middle of the street.  Then we decided to just throw them in front of cars when they were coming down the hill."
"YOU WHATTTTTTTTTTTTT?" I screamed. Porthos proud grin ran off his face faster than a rocket launch.
"It's okay, Mom! Only one red truck stopped and the man got out and asked us what we were doing.  When we told him, he just got back in his truck and rolled over it for us."
My head is spinning at this point.
"Where was his Mom during all this?" I wondered,  "Did she see what you were doing?"
"Oh, she wasn't there.  She works all day and so does his Dad."

I think I broke poor Porthos' spirit when I said that he will never go over to B.'s house again.

This, my friends, is why we don't do playdates.