So, how ya gonna measure that?

So, driving through south Alabama today we came across any weary traveler's best friend: 

The Indoor Playground.

Well, any weary traveler with kids.

While the kids played I noticed something rather...odd.

The Playground rules.

Now, the playground rules are usually incredibly boring but this set of rules had two little gems attached to them.

Starting off at number one:

Kids must be supervised by a 'happy' adult. 

Dang. 

Used to we just had to be 'responsible.'

Now, we have the implied responsibility of any adult with the additional happiness thrown in. 

I don't know...After driving for five hours with seven children under the age of nine I'm not sure that happiness is really the first feeling that comes to mind. 

Not to be all  'Old Lady Claunch' on them but I was kinda in the mood to leave them at the Playplace and just keep driving. 

But, no...according to the new rules I had to be happy. 

Fine:

I'll choose to meditate on the beauty of this picture that really ought to be painted and put in the Sistine Chapel:

A Mason jar of Sweet Tea with a slice of homemade yellow cake with chocolate icing. 

Ahhh...I have now achieved happiness.

But rule number six was really just unattainable.

Unachievable, even. 

Apparently, if we see anything 'weird' we need to tell the manager.

My first thought upon seeing this is:

"Loose Lips Sink Ships!"

and

"Big Brother is Watching!"

My next thought is:

Er...does this baby count?

Seriously, look at this face:

Oh, maybe there's nothing weird about that. 

I guess I'm fine with rule number six.

So, how are they gonna measure our happiness and weirdness?

Because, from where I'm standing these pictures are pretty incriminating.