Saturday, October 23, 2010

I get it now.

I'm at Kalahari for the weekend with my mom, aunt, and two younger cousins. I absolutely love spending time with my family, but I loathe places like this; they're a caricature of everything that other nationalities ridicule us for.

This venture has also made me realize, yet again, that I am far from ready for children. I used every ounce of restraint I had to stop from strangling every tween in the hot tub. I shoved several children out of my way in the lazy river. And I required a very large amount of pinot grigio to help me tolerate the arcade after 9:00 pm on a Saturday. Therein lies my revelation. As I scanned the arcade tonight, buzzed after dinner and several rounds of DDR, I started to notice the great equalizer: comically-large margarita glasses filled with neon liquors.

Because this is an indoor waterpark, you can drink anywhere. ANYWHERE. Making this place seemingly tolerable for parents who feel stifled by open-container laws at public beaches. Parents exuded only complacence as they toted around shrieking six-year-olds with fistfuls of crumpled tickets waiting to be exchanged for shitty dollar-store, petro-chemical laden, lead-painted toys. And suddenly I get Brave New World.

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