David has been working very long hours. The kind of hours that breeds family dissatisfaction. This afternoon as Lucy and I sat in her pop-up princess clubhouse, discussing the many sides of Barbie, she said to me, “I can’t wait to party with Daddy tonight”. When I passed this along to David he felt obligated to bring “the funk” tonight. He declared that we would go to Chuck E Cheese. Now, I recognize that for most families this is a special event, but this took on even more significance in our house because this would be our first visit. Yes, at five years old Lucy has NEVER been to a Chuck E. Cheese.

There are several reasons why I dislike Chuck E. Cheese; the lack of teeth in the people taking my order, the unease that somebody is spitting in my food, the fear of hidden child molesters, bad pizza and the proliferation of germs on every hard surface. However, all of these could be overlooked if it wasn’t for the suffocating air of pathetic suburban living that seems to envelope me when I walk in. They should hang a sign above the door that says “Abandon all hope of ever being cool ye who enter here”. Chuck E. Cheese is a flash point of all things that are terrible about living in the suburbs. I’m eating bad pizza, on paper plates, watching a 16 year old dressed as a giant mouse make unruly children scream and march around a giant indoor park. I’m being charged $40 to play carnival games that are rigged so my kid can’t win, but instead receive 10 tickets that they can redeem for an equally tacky trinket that will be in my garbage in less than 24 hours. There is absolutely nothing redeemable about the experience and during the entire time you feel even more pathetic for having been sucked into this vortex of mediocrity and bad taste.

There are good things about the suburbs. I don’t worry about my kids playing in the backyard. We have a backyard. The house we own is about a 1,000 sq feet larger than what we could afford if we lived IN Dallas. We have safe, good public schools. I’m a five minute drive from anything I could ever want or need. However, my house looks like about 75% of the other houses in my neighborhood. My husband has to drive an hour to work. I can’t walk to anything except the doughnut shop and the middle school.

Unfortunately, sitting in Chuck E. Cheese I feel as if I’ve disappointed the younger more idealistic version of myself. As if I have finally sold out and perhaps this is what bothers me most. Sitting under those fluorescent lights with the odd combination of grease and disinfectant wafting in the air I feel embarrassed. I’m better than this. My kids deserve better than this. And all of this self-loathing and contemplation is spurred because of Chuck E. Cheese and their terrible pizza. That is why I doubt we’ll go back.