Is it wrong to equate such a joyous and entertaining place for children with Hell?

Because, truly, those double-paned doors at the entrance of the local Chuck E. Cheese evoke something within me very similar to what Dante must have felt before passing through that fearsome gate.

Monday evening we spent the day gallivanting around the Capital and the Little Shakespeares convinced us that ol’ Chuck’s was the perfect place for a greasy dinner and games. Amid a chorus of forceful "we’ll behave, mama"s and tearful "puhleeeeaze"s, Peter and I shared a commiserating look and turned the valiant minivan in the direction so desired by our children.

Two hours, eighty dollars, several handfuls of hair, countless brain cells, and nine circles later; I knew the true meaning of purgatory.

Little Man adamantly saved his reward vouchers for the next visit.

Somebody shoot me.