Yet again -- humilation at the inflatable wonderland

As you can see here, my kids love to bounce --




So when we received a party invitation for today's bouncefest at an inflatable playground -- well, how could I deny them?

Things went fine. At first.

But then -- for the second time in two years -- Tootie decided she just HAD to venture into the crown jewel of inflatables: a gigantic Jurassic obstacle course/maze/slide.

Of course the E-man followed.

Background: Last time we visited this place, I fell out of an inflatable structure -- on my ass -- in my attempts to extricate an unwilling E-man from said structure when it was time to go.

I should have learned. I should have never returned. People laughed at me.

But the children. My little darlings. I couldn't make them sit this party out just because I'm afraid of inflatables.

Anyway, back to Jurassic hell.

E-man made it up the climbing wall, slid into this little valley, but then found himself unable to get up the next hill. I could see him struggling.

I'll just pop in, give him a boost, and come back out, I thought. No biggie.


But I'm not as limber as I used to be. It took some effort to scale the first wall. Finally, I made it to the top and hurtled into the mini-valley. I looked up to the top of the next hill -- which was perfectly smooth, no footholds -- and read these words: The Squeeze.

At the top of this next hill, you see, the inflatable's roof met the hill's peak. Apparently, you are supposed to squeeze through this non-opening.

But how, I wondered, do you even get to the top of the hill to attempt The Squeeze?


A grade-schooler smiled at me reassuringly.

"You just do this," he said, leaping at the hill and squirming through. His feet disappeared and I looked at the E-man.

"No problem, Buddy," said, boosting him up and pushing him through The Squeeze.

I turned around, preparing to leave the way I had come in. But there was no way I could get up that slide. After a few embarrassing attempts, I realized I would have to brave The Squeeze.

I took a deep breath, sprang upwards, slammed into the side of the hill and oozed back into my little valley.

Oh hell.

I leaped again, and this time I got high enough with adequate oomph to shove my head and shoulders through The Squeeze.

And there I remained wedged. Children on the torso side of The Squeeze saw a wild-eyed woman with flailing arms.

Children on the ass side of The Squeeze saw my butt jouncing uselessly as I thrashed my legs.

Just to ensure you have a decent visual, I offer you this:



As you can see here, my ass isn't exactly tiny. Children on that side of The Squeeze no doubt cowered in terror as I humped the inflatable.

Finally, I wiggled through and hurtled, face-first, down the next steep slide.

I then wandered through a maze, searching for the emergency back way out. Surely they have one for the children (or parents) who chicken out. But all I could find was a wall with footholds. Clearly, I was expected to scale it and shoot down the next slide.

I worked my way up, ass yet again on bobbing display, finally reaching the top.

It was very high.

OK, your soon-to-be 3-year-old just shot down this thing. Without screaming.

I took a deep breath and pushed off. By the time I hit the bottom, I was flat on my back with both feet in the air.

Thank God I wore clean, non-holey socks, I thought.

"Mommy!" my delighted children cried. "Let's do it again!"

No freaking way in hell.