I'm Being Served Pizza by a Rat, and Everyone's OK with This?

Sorry for the long delay in posting, but Comcast and I have had a difference of opinion concerning my internet and cable. Long story short, after two weeks and a LOT of phone calls, we have internet access again. TV will be Saturday. The 21st century has returned to my house! One day we might look into that new-fangled indoor plumbing and possibly shoes.

You all know Davis. I actually have another child, a newly-minted seven year old named Katie. She is very smart and a bookworm (just like her mom!) She is also tall and skinny and blond and athletic (WHOSE kid is this?) Wednesday was her birthday and according to family custom, she got to decide where she wanted to have dinner that night. Katie can have a sophisticated palette for an elementary-schooler, so I had high hopes.

I have a confession to make. I cannot stand Chuck E. Cheese. I mean, really, really, really cannot stand Chuck E. Cheese. It smells, the food is gross, and do not EVEN get me started on that giant hepatitis-pit that the kids climb into. You couldn’t get that thing clean with a gallon of Lysol® and a flame-thrower. If anyone needs a cool science project guaranteed to bring about a lifetime of agoraphobia, bring a Petri dish into that bad boy. Also, I resent spending $20 for a ten-cent notepad with Zac Efron® on it, despite the fact that I have the soundtrack of High School Musical 3 on my iPod. Don’t hate.

Back to Chuck E. Cheese: my daughter could have chosen anywhere in Knoxville for her birthday dinner. Of course, nothing would do. Hepatitis-pit, here we come! Here is a well-kept secret among mothers: we ALL hate Chuck E. Cheese. Now lest you think I am absolutely horrible, intent on ruining my precious daughter’s birthday, I put on a brave face and tried to appear excited. Part of the fun of going there, for my children, is to watch me try to endure it. They torment me for days before we go: “Are you going to hug Chuck E.? He’s going to kiss you!”, etc. So Katie was completely in on the act. Part of the present was watching Mom squirm.

My husband kept offering me helpful little tidbits like, “Most of these people look clean.” “That kid seemed sorry that he sat on Davis.” “Oh, look, honey, they have Coke Zero!” Being out of Katie’s earshot, I snapped, “Well, when they have it with Antiguan Rum, then please let me know.” The mother next to me leaned over and whispered, “Darlin’, you have to pack it in your purse.” Excellent. I just cannot bring myself to be the flask-toting mom to children’s birthday dinners. Not just yet. Ask me again when Davis is seven!

We rode the rides, shot basketballs, shot ducks, got the gratuitous hug and high-five from The Rat, doused ourselves in hand sanitizer, and settled into a peaceful birthday-cake-induced sleep. Happy Birthday to Katie! Next year, might I suggest Ruth’s Chris? Please?