Today I am ever so grateful to Chuck E. Cheese's. While it's hard to believe, I assure you, it's quite true. I am thankful, because today Chuck E. gifted me the ultimate reason for never going back there again.
Let me give you a little backstory. We haven't been to C.E.C. in about four or five years, as my oldest howler monkey got violently ill each and every time we went. We didn't go that often, but this place runs high on the birthday wish list of small children. Anyway, the last time we went my son actually had to be treated, intravenously, for excessive vomiting. My husband and I were all too happy not to return to an experience that can best be likened to eating the brown acid.
Until today. We went today because our daughter was invited to a birthday party for one of her new little kindergarten friends. Siblings included. We talked to our son who decided he'd take the risk and go. After being there for about and hour and a half, just when my husband appeared to be weeping, and my eyes started twitching, our son and a friend got off the slide wearing frowny faces and wet clothes.
WET CLOTHES. They had followed a little girl down the slide who had peed her pants during the entire ride down. Unbeknownst to them, they (and their clothes) were the clean up crew for someone else's urine. When you utter the sentence "so you're telling me that you're soaked in a stranger's urine" to your nine year old, it is the time to walk away. Forever.
Thanks Chuck, you evil rat bastard.
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