It Takes a Village, and the Village Has a Budget for Nails
I signed my child up for the summer camp for the least noble reason available. The holiday here runs six weeks, six weeks is a long time to fill, and I wanted one of those weeks to belong to somebody who was not me. My expectations were correspondingly modest: a field, some supervision, a child returned in the evening in roughly the condition she departed in. This is, I think, the standard parental transaction, and I entered into it without ceremony.