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Why do I do this?

Right now, a pear-shaped woman in stiletto heels and tight, low-cut jeans is battling a four-year old. He's screaming at the top of his lungs and trying to bite the woman, while she is screaming back at him at a slightly lower volume. Luckily, they are all of ten feet away from me, so most of their noise is lost in the deafening ambient sounds of the fluorescent chamber I'm imprisoned in.

Yes, I'm at the McDonald's playroom again, and my keyboard is getting greasy. The Mistress of Chaos is pulling apart her burger looking for her pickle, and Captain Destructo has just removed his socks -- in clear violation of the Playroom rules -- so he can more effectively climb the slides and cause a collision.

But it's pouring outside and they're having a great time. They've spontaneously merged with the other children into a giggling, marauding pack that is rushing through the playstructure, back and forth, up and down, sometimes attracting a new member, sometimes losing one to the grasping hand of a parent. All I can hear is squeaks and shrieks, thumping and laughter. With so much fun going on, I can count on them not eating much of their food. And that's a good thing.


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