“Joan, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Megan.”

“Could we use your house on Sunday? I’d like to organise a picnic, then afterward gather at your house so we can dance in your big rumpus room.”

(long pause)

(cautiously) “Um… Am I invited?”

(incredulously) “Of course!” (like, duh)

(phew!) “Okay then!”

There is a huge park near my house. It has rolling grass hills, trees, a lake, well-maintained walking and riding tracks, picnic tables, barbecues, and is home to all sorts of wildlife. It’s a perfect place for a picnic on a sunny Sunday afternoon. In high spirits, the five of us piled into Vera’s car and drove to the park.

As we drove through the park entrance, we laughed because the gate was plastered with signs — “Tiger’s 8th birthday picnic this way” and so on. We trundled along towards the carpark and were amazed at the number of people who had set up camp. Some of the picnics looked like full military operations, with specialist chairs and regulation-issue picnic rugs. Smoke rose from dozens of barbecues dotting the landscape.

“I’ve never seen the park so full before!”

“Will we find a space?”

“Don’t worry this park is huge. We’ll drive a bit further.”

We drove by another picnic, another BBQ, a group of kids playing frisbee, three people racing each other on scooters, a cricket game, a soccer match, a massive white marquee, a jumping castle…

“SHEESH, this is ridiculous! It’s not even like this during Carols by Candlelight!”

Unbelievably, the further into the park we drove, the more crowded it became. Cars overflowed the marked parking spaces and were double parked. There was no way we could find a space.

“What are we going to do?”

We looked at each other helplessly.

“Give me the map,” I said finally. “It’s time to randomly find another park.”

Ten minutes later, we found ourselves picnicking on the perfectly manicured lawns at the art gallery. The people sipping cappuccinos in the gallery cafe probably thought we were weird.

Haha, tough luck you artsy people. You don’t get no wontons.