None of the characters or situations in this story are meant to represent any actual persons, living or dead.

The L.A. sun shone shone hotly down on the crisp clean pavements, making the cement sidewalks give off heat waves. Anywhere else in the United States, an ordinary pedestrian might have thought that he or she had stumbled upon a mirage, as a gleaming Italian sports car rolled up to the curb. The doors opened, and two utterly perfect human beings got out.

They were flawless in every way. The ideal human forms. Tall, tan, thin, beautifully coiffed and exquisitely attired in the hottest new fashions. Both the man and the woman looked as if they wouldn't ever be caught dead, doing or wearing anything that was so five seconds ago. They were the Gods of the silver screen. And millions worshiped them daily, in magazines and on Hollywood gossip programs.

Mr. and Mrs. Soupastah were expecting a child. They were using a surrogate mother, of course. That's because the Mrs. considered the very notion of gaining a few pounds to be unthinkable. Even if that weight meant bringing a new life into this world. And the mere mention of stretch marks would send her screaming, terrified, into the bedroom wardrobe.

The pair of them were greeted at the door of the imposing, modernist styled school by a nattily dressed Englishman named Piers. As if he were used to such prestigious individuals coming to him on a regular basis--which he was, Piers greeted the celebrities as if they were old friends.

After this, his personal assistant, a very fit young man in a dark Armani suit named Brad, formally introduced Piers as the executive director of the 'Harmonious Bliss Child Enlightenment Centre.' To the average American who would count dinner at McDonalds followed by a night out bowling, as the high end of luxury, the centre's name might more easily translate into: 'Daycare Center for the Over-privileged Children of Trendy Upscale Twats.'

It was, beyond doubt, the most exclusive private preschool in all of California. The one year fee alone could easily buy your average celebrity a new Porche, a solid gold Rolex watch, a dozen pairs of Jimmy Choo shoes and a vintage Tiffany lamp. Not your average day care center, this.

As they began their tour of the school, Piers walked alongside the prospective parents, explaining every detail of the school week to them.

“The daily snack selection was custom designed by Jamie Oliver, and prepared by our four star master chef.” He told them crisply. “The toddler's every interaction with each other is carefully monitored by a wise old gentleman with a PhD in psychiatry from Harvard and a Doctorate from the University of Berlin. The teaching curriculum here was designed by a woman with no less than five degrees from Oxford and Vasser universities. I can list them for you if you are interested. Oh, and there is, of course, a full time doctor, nurse and a private paramedic ambulance unit on call at all times during school hours. Can't be too careful with our wonderful pupils, can we?”

“Pupils?” Mrs. S. said, with a suddenly wary frown. “You mean like, these kids have eye problems?”

“Erm--no. I mean our pupils...I mean students, never lack for the best of care while they are in our hands.”

“Uh-huh..” Mrs. Soupastah said flatly, clearly unimpressed. She had transferred her frowning features from Piers, in order to gaze at her hand. She had what appeared to be a minute chip in polish on her right pinky finger.

“That's why I get for paying four hundred dollars for a bottle of cut-rate fingernail polish.” She muttered crossly.

“What was that Mrs. Soupastah?” the school's director inquired.

Without answering, the celebrity couple moved on to the the first room down an expansive, Italian marble hallway which was lined with doors.

Piers gestured towards the classroom. As they peered through the door's window, they saw where two toddlers were sitting in small chairs in front of pint-sized music stands with sheet music spread out on them. Two of the children were holding real miniature violins. The third was seated on a bench in front of a tiny grand piano.

“Our music classes are all taught by a former conductor and arranger of the Philadelphia Orchestra.” He said proudly. “Art is taught by one of the east coast's hottest young artist's, whose works have been displayed in locations such as the Everson Museum to the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art. Theater courses are given by a woman whose teaching credits include the Royal Academy for Dramatic Arts and The Actors Studio. And finally, our dance class is jointly taught by a former member of the New York City Ballet and one of Alvin Ailey's best choreographers.”

Mr. and Mrs. Soupastah cast casual glances into the room, and gave identical bored shrugs. Behind their backs Piers heaved a silent sigh and rolled his eyes at Brad. His personal assistant hovered unobtrusively in the background, ready for whatever command his boss had for him. With their guest's backs turned, Brad smirked at Piers. The young man's face then took on a cow-like expression as he mimicked their shrug. Hiding his smile, Piers gestured with an outstretched arm towards the end of the hallway. He then lead the celebrities on towards a wide floor to ceiling window.

Outside the window was a huge lawn with two goal posts at either end. Through the trees bordering the field, could be glimpsed a shimmering body of water. In the middle of the field, were two teams of four year olds. One team wore blue polo shirts and the other wore red. All the toddlers were outfitted with white riding breeches, boots, helmets and polo mallets. Each of them were sat on Shetland ponies tacked in pint-sized polo saddles. They were being instructed by a tanned rugged looking dark haired man on horseback.

“This is our polo field. We carefully train all of our mounts before any of the children so much as step one foot in the stirrup. Our instructor is Juan Alvarez, a world class polo player from Argentina.”

“Looks like the children might get dirty, out there.” Mr. Soupastah commented.

“Well,” Piers said, spreading his hands depreciatively, “we do have other activities available for the children.”

Turning and walking back up the hall, He continued, “Outdoor playtime activities also include tennis, taught by a Wimbledon champion, and there's also rowing of course, on the artificial lake behind the school. Oh, and if enrolled during our summer session, students can sign up for surfboarding lessons. We have special surfboards custom made for each child.”

“Surfing is so yesterday, dude.” Mr. Soupastah said, with a disappointed shake of his head.

“I think it sounds very retro.” His wife told him. “You know? Like the Beach Boys, Hang Ten, Annette Funicello. It'd be nice to have our child experiencing like, you know...living history.”

“Whatever.” Her husband shrugged, reaching in his pocket and checking his phone for messages.

“Yes, quite.” Piers said, deciding to move on. “As you may have seen in the brochure we sent you, there's also an indoor swimming pool alongside our gymnasium. Indoor sports are taught by by two Olympic gold medalist's in swimming and gymnastics. I might also take this moment to add that our physical education office also offers a specialized combination of yoga exercises and meditation, taught by a Buddhist monk from the Himalayas. And, occasionally, if there's enough interest, he will allow selected students to study under him. His fields of expertise are tai chi, mountain climbing and show jumping.”

“Show jumping?” Mr. Soupastah queried.

“Yes. It's quite a popular sport among the monks, where he comes from. We have a specially trained herd of Yaks at the disposal of his students.”

Additionally, the prospective parents were also told that every child was given his or her own individual toys--only the most desirable and trendy toys on the market, of course. These would be replaced whenever they got dirty or the child became bored with them. Besides this, children had their own Nook reader, mp3 player and laptop computer.

Given all this, Mr. and Mrs. Soupastah should have been wetting themselves with excitement. That their child one day may be admitted into such an exclusive institution of learning. However, the pair appeared quite blasé about the whole thing.

Piers took the couple into a small cafe. In one corner, three toddlers were sitting at a table, gazing intently at their laptops. They didn't seem to notice anyone else was in the room with them.

"This is just one of our cozy little Internet cafe's. We have several on campus." He gestured towards the three young students. "And these are three of the school's foreign exchange students; Cuisinart from France, Waffleiron from Belgium, and Fukitscold from Canada."

Husband and wife marveled at these clever little children. They wished to secure a place there for their expected child, and the waiting list was three years. Nothing but the best for young....they hadn't thought of a name yet. Mrs. And Mrs. Soupastah clasped hands and gazed lovingly into each other's eyes. They hoped to be mystically inspired to come up with universe's most unique and perfect name, when the time came.

As the three of them turned another corner, there stood six tiny pupils, two boys and four girls. All were dressed in the hippest fashions. They were stood, four in front, four behind, with their hands clasped in front of them. Professional model smiles were fixed to their faces, as the children were awaiting instructions from a fashion photographer.

“Let me introduce you to eight of our star students.” Piers said proudly. “The four in the first row have already been accepted at Harvard. Two of the girls in the back are going to Vassar, and the other two have been accepted at Oxford and Cambridge, respectively.” He went down the first row of children. “Let me introduce you to them: The Harvard children are; Doublelatte, Prada, Mozart Shakespeare Picasso, and Rolex.” He moved to the back row, indicating each child by pointing at his or her head. “And here is, Perrier, Save-The-Rainforest, and the twins; Volvo and Lexus.”

All of the sudden, two small boys, both wearing cowboy boots and hats,came tearing around the corner.

They ran by, yelling in Texas accents, “Mission accomplished! White power! Thinking sucks!”

“Budwiser! Spot!” Piers called out sternly. “Heel! Walk boys. We. Do. Not. Run.”

However, neither boy seemed to have heard Piers, as they went careening on heedlessly, down the hallway.

One of them backhanded a middle finger at Piers, as he ran. “I'm bored. I want to and go kill something.” The boy whined to his companion.

"Nah. Let's go blow up a country. Then we can kill loads of innocent people, just like great-granddad!" Said the other young lad.

Piers shook his head and smiled apologetically at Mr. and Mrs. Soupastah.

“I'm sorry about that. Our board of directors took them as a bri--I mean, as a special favor. They're the former president's great-grandchildren, you know. I'm afraid though," He added as a quiet aside, "That they're a little...” He stuck his tongue out sideways, and whirled his finger in a circle around his head.

“They're not...contagious, are they?” The wife asked with a worried frown. “We don't want our kid coming down with a low IQ.”

“No, not at all. We keep them both in an isolation chamber, most of the time. It's just their play period, right now. They play away from the rest of the students.” He cleared his throat. “Erm--for obvious reasons.” He shrugged helplessly. “What can I say? Their parents are donating a 50,000 acre national wildlife preserve to our school. It will be a holiday camp for the kids, when it's finished. Each child to get their own condo with the latest in entertainment media. And, it will have a one-mile stock car racing track, as well as scale model replicas of the Wall Street Stock Exchange, and Noah's Ark.”

Walking on, he pointed to a gold door at the end of the hall.

“Now, if you'd like to come with me, we can go to my office and sign the commitment papers.” He turned around. No one was there. “Mr and Mrs Soupastah? Hello?” He frowned and swore softly. “Damn those kids. Always scaring off the right people. Those were just the sort of parents we want for our school.”

Then, Piers looked out the window. There was the missing couple! He sighed with relief. They'd just popped outside to smoke a joint and snort some coke. Smiling, he gave them a wave. Piers then patiently waited for them to come in, and sign their unborn child up for school.

The End