Chucky Cheese

As long as I can remember, I have hated mascots, clowns and puppets. This particular fear goes so deep that even dolls and claymation can give me the heebeejeebees.

It also is a fear held my all five of my sisters. I'm pretty a sure it can be tested for via amniocentesis.

My poor future children will never know Disney Land/World. They will never see Mickey or smell the sweaty custom Goofy is walking around in. I feel only slightly bad about this.

This weekend's trip to Chucky Cheese only added the number of things I plan on depriving my future spawn of.

The place was awful.

I love my sister in law. She is JACKPOT when I comes to in-laws (and you know I'm being honest because she does not read this blog), but I hated her this weekend for making me go to Chucky Cheese. I consider Chucky Cheese to be a culmination of all my fears and hatred. I walked around thinking "Oh dear God what is this place?". Playthings from the late 80's, screaming children, huge singing and dancing animatronic mice. And the minimalist in me almost died when I saw children running towards the toy counter clutching their hoard of tickets in their sweaty hands in order to collect their junky trinkets. Oye vey!

I wish I could have been a better sport about the whole thing, but my hatred of all things mascot etc. was in full swing and I could not get the literal or figurative bile to settle. What made it worse were the parents. One mother behind me told her child to "stop being such a little $h!+".

And that's my cue to leave.

So why had I put myself in such a terrifically horrifying place? For the love of a nephew, of course! It was was my first nephew's birthday. He was adorable and sweet and deserves every uncomfortable moment I experienced. After all. You only turn four once. And what's a little panic attack compared to that?

How old are you Joshua?