Trampoline Park

There’s nothing like enjoying your coffee on a lazy Saturday morning when you don’t have anywhere to rush off to, when your husband walks into the room and in a booming voice shouts, “Who wants to go to the trampoline place???!!” Oh…did I forget to mention that the girls were well within ear shot? Yeah…thanks, Chief. Maybe next time we pow-wow before you go straight to the top with an idea like that?

So needless to say, we spent the morning at the trampoline park where I, of course, made some observations. I will skip over the ones involving how germ infested the place was and how the foam pit made my skin crawl because I don’t want to beat a dead horse. We all know how I feel about that.

That being said, let’s start with this: people, WATCH YOUR KIDS. For real now. Maybe at the playground or Chuck E. Cheese I could cut you some slack (maybe). But at the trampoline park, your ignorance could cause someone to be paralyzed. And guess what…it might even be YOUR kid. So look alive.

I know that the Cameron-from-Modern Family look-alike wearing his high water jeans, loafers, and a gold Figaro bracelet (just a little touch of class) was having a great time chatting it up with his pal, but meanwhile his daughter was trapped in a foam pit in which she had no business (shocking seeing as how her very modern dad was standing DIRECTLY in front of the giant rules sign). When I directed his attention to her he turned around and looked in the opposite direction. Moral of the story: get your heads out of your asses peeps.

Second: who in the hell is buying all these 8-10 year old girls such slutty clothes?!?!?? Seriously, people actually wonder why girls these days don’t respect their bodies and throw a leg at the drop of a hat?? Maybe it’s because their dumb ass moms are letting them prance around in shirts so tight they can’t breathe and shorts that could cut off the circulation in their miniature lady business all before third grade. I saw just one too many little ass cheeks in that place today. Put some clothes on your girls, moms. Let them turn into hussies on their own time, if that’s what you want for a daughter, but don’t give them a boost onto the pole. Take a stab at some modesty while you can.

Because, NEWSFLASH: you are the boss. Pretty sure no third grader is earning the money and paying for her own stripper clothes. Not to mention, it’s freaking February for crying out loud.

Now, speaking of moms. I made the calculated decision not to jump on any trampolines today. And I think we can all guess why. Frankly, I don’t exactly want the world to see a bladder control failure right out in the open. But I was watching these other moms jumping away and I couldn’t help but wonder…how is it that they can DO that? I mean either they had some sort of magical pelvic floor or else they went with the preventative Poise pads strategy. But one lady was wearing spandex pants. You can’t hide a maxi pad in a pair of spandex. Not possible.

Anyway, I was envious because I loved jumping on the trampoline when I was little and my girls were having so much fun so I really wanted to play with them. But not so badly that I was willing to suffer the shame of peeing my pants in the suburban family weekend Mecca. You gotta have boundaries. Wetting my pants in public is where I draw the line.

So I sat on the sidelines and watched the girls and their sweet dad bounce around with happy little faces. But seriously, I bet there are a lot of moms who leave that place with a damp gusset in their undergarments. I wish I had checked the bathroom for a feminine product dispenser. I bet they could make a killing selling those things.

So now, I owe the simultaneous nap all to the trampoline park. For that I am entirely grateful. And I’m fixin’ to take further advantage of the silence in my clean and dry pants. Peace out.