The other night we all went to one of those loud indoor pizza places with games and tokens. (You know what I’m talking about.) Somebody generously gave us an all-paid pass for our family to go, so we went.
I have mixed feelings about coin operated contraptions sitting under the soft glow of black lights while the dance mix version of “It’s a Small World” makes your heart involuntarily beat to its rhythm. I never feel comfortable. I’m in a constant state of worry that my kids will get lost in all that bling and commotion.
The endless buffet, the bottomless soda fountains, the self serve ice cream, the bling-a-ling-a-ling sirens of victory!
I felt like we were on that freaky island of pleasure from Pinocchio. When we left, I half expected to find some sinister looking, cigar chomping fellow in the back parking lot loading a bunch of Oshkosh wearing donkeys into the back of a truck.
It was like the kiddy version of Las Vegas.
The House always wins.
It’s a wonder to me how people pay good, hard earned money to go to places like these. An absolute wonder.
Decent pizza, though.