How 'bout some milfs on trampolines?

After another of Mlle. Sklodovska's doctor appointments today, I took her to a friend's birthday party. The party was held at an indoor playground---one hell of a simple business model. Take two parts vacant warehouse, one part labor, and a bunch of inflatable slides, climbers, and obstacles. Throw in a Pilates ball or two, do your legal paperwork, paint in primary colors, and charge better than ten bucks a kid. Not a license to print money, but respectable creation of wealth nonetheless. What else are you going to do with empty warehouse space? Shoot music videos?

A dozen kids bounced around, slid down slides, swung inflated boxing gloves half their own size, climbed a ten-meter inflated volcano, or scaled a fifteen-meter climbing wall, or ran from one to the other. In two hours they were exhausted and statically charged from sliding across the vinyl and plastic.

I noticed, however, as I always do, a Man Show angle in this. As in, some of the other kids' moms bouncing on or climbing the equipment with their kids. "How 'bout some milfs on trampolines?"

Dads, you might be missing out on a vital and rewarding part of fatherhood by not taking your kids to certain birthday parties.

The effect was spoiled later, when one of these women addressed me as "sir."

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