My Gym

Not the one where I work out because that one doesn't exist. The one where my three year old goes to do "gymnastics" once a week.

The music is so loud the children have to shout to make their tiny voices heard. The walls are nauseatingly cheerful. Bright colors and smiling cartoon animals assault your eyes from every surface. For some reason, every animal is waving at you--except the fish, obviously excused from the creepy greeting due to his lack of arms. In an effort to compensate for the fins, his smile crosses the line from mirthy to maniacal, as if his mouth is trying to split his head in two. One can only assume the children think they're friendly and fun.

I'm convinced that, if I stayed here after they turned the lights out, the animals would reveal the weapons they're wielding in the hands hidden behind their backs. You know, the ones not waving.

Except the fish. He would use his huge mouth to swallow my face.

There's no way I could be here by myself, even if it wasn't dark. The laughter of phantom children probably echoes off the walls.

And don't even get me started on the multitudes of bare feet and booger fingers that have touched every bit of this place. The amount of cooties in here has to be epic.

But we'll be here again next Wednesday because the kid loves this damned germ factory.