With Cheese

     If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s getting a pro-life lecture from a minimum wage waiter in a rat suit, with a vest; Especially when I’ve already had to remind said Rat several times to bring us extra ice for our drinks. I had to request twice to have the puddle of urine in front of our table mopped up. He took his side job as roadie for the Mechanical Fake Band a little too seriously.  As if he were meant for Better More Important Things and Chato Y’ Cheeses was just a stepping stone.

     Chato Y’ Cheese’s is not, as it turned out, the place to bring your confused pregnant friend for lunch; especially if you also invite the bitter jealous rival friend.  BUT the advertisement said ‘A Place for KIDS TO BE KIDS.’ They have a maze for retarded children and a soothing padded Ritalin room with a huge screen television and chairs with straps in which to lash down the little medicated tykes.

     PLUS: Pregnant Women EAT FREE!

     It sounded like the perfect place for Kym to get a good solid look at her options.   

      Kym and I met Sylvia in front of the Wedge of Cheese and Winking Mouse Turd at noon.  We greeted each other with warm hugs, although Kym mimed ‘Her Ass is HUGE!’ behind Sylvia’s back and Sylvia made a catty comment about Kym’s sinister hair, which she fingered as if on a dare.

     Soon a surly lass with greasy hair and buck teeth took us to our seat, a plastic booth in front of the stage.  The hostess’s unfortunate yellow overbite, bad hygiene and posture were not part of a clever subtle costume, sadly, and this mistake cost us free game tokens. 

     On stage, three Mice were helping a Cockroach set up fake instruments.  It is ingenious that Chato Y’ Cheese has turned a health department nightmare into a marketing advantage.  Still, I can’t bring myself to eat the food.  I brought a thermos of strong drink, and an industrial-sized canister of disinfectant which I hauled behind me like some people do oxygen.  Occasionally I spritzered the children as they ran by. 

    Also, sensitive to Kym’s delicate condition, I brought along a big bottle of milk; she carries her own Kahlua and Vodka. I ordered a medium pizza because Sylvia would eat her own hand if it had cheese on it.

     Our waiter was, of course, a Rat; wearing a huge WWJD ring on his long skinny pink fingers.  It had turned the flesh underneath a disturbing shade of green. The Rat’s name badge pinned to his soiled red vest said ‘Chewy.’

Chewy's other job was to make sure the cockroach made it on stage for each music set: which consisted of the same 2 songs played over and over in hour intervals. Apparently the cockroach had become a problem. The Rat followed him into the bathroom every time. The other rodents seemed wary. They all looked somewhere in the age range of a hard lived 40 or a relatively youthful 65.

     Our plan was to just observe the children in their natural environment and ponder Kym’s situation. She was on the brink of making a decision that would profoundly change her life. I was hoping that she would do this by 2:00 as Jesus was scheduled to come by to shine my ‘Ginys and fertilize the lawn.

     I probably shouldn’t have invited Sylvia, but she had just been dumped by her 3rd boyfriend ‘Bob’ in as many months and seemed like she could use cheering up.
She was not cheered to hear of Kym’s pregnancy.  She was jealous of Kym's marriage; that it was to Andre was irrelevant.

     “At least you have a husband,” she whined into her large cup, filled with fruit punch and gin. This beverage gave her a bright red mustache, which in turn made her look tragically amused.    

     “Oh shut the fuck up. He’s a MONKEY.  It’s not like we are registered at Nordstroms.”    

     “Yes you are!” I chimed. I had done this last week. 

     All around us, children screamed and ran about, throwing food, soiling their pants… while mothers sat at tables in groups of 3 and 4, oblivious to everything.  They drank from their children’s plastic cups of soda, crusty with backwash.  Many of them were pregnant. 

     “Why do YOU think YOU want to be a mother?” Sylvia cried, slapping her hand down on the table.

     “I’m rich! I’m attractive. I’m not getting any younger…sooner or later I might need an organ. A couple kidneys in the bank, is how I'm looking at it.” Kym replied, calmly pouring more vodka into her milk. Organic whole milk, I should add.

     “Yes! Excellent reasons to bear a child! All those duplicate organs! In the end, the little bastard stands to inherit a fortune, whatever is left of him!” I agreed, raising my glass in toast, while also looking at my watch, one o'clock.

    “Who is the father?” Sylvia asked.

     Kym and I exchanged, as they say, looks. I was sworn to secrecy.  Yahtzee knew about his impending possible fatherhood, but we 3 were keeping it quiet.  He could lose his license.  Not that he had one, but if/when it was reinstated. Plus, it embarrassed Kym to have coupled with a man who listened to 70’s music and whose last few addresses featured the word ‘inmate’.  She could be cast out of the Ladie's Auxillary, whatever that was. 

     “Well?” Sylvia asked, looking from me to Kym.

     I sighed, watching the rat lead the jittery 'roach back to the stage, looking at my watch,

     “Eric is the father.”

     “WHAT?!”

     “Yeah,” Kym agreed, sighing. “Eric.”

     “You let Eric get her pregnant and you won’t even let him talk to me on the phone?”

     “Yes…well…it was very clinical. No one enjoyed it. She was thinking of me the entire time. And, of course, so was he.”

     “Not the entire time,” Kym said, the crusty whore.

     Sylvia was getting very agitated,    

     “You wouldn’t even let me borrow your new vacuum last year. Instead you bought me that weird hand thing from some medical auction.”    

     “Ahh yes! ‘The Lady Rug Doctor! Screamin’ Mad At Sperm!’ I thought YOU were pregnant!” I laughed, remembering. “You’d put on so much weight!”

     “So, I should have an abortion, but Kym should have a baby, is that it?” Sylvia sobbed, between bites of pizza, “Why?”

     “Oh, now, Sylvia –it’s not so much that you should have an abortion as you should be certain to vacuum your uterus regularly!” I said, putting a positive spin on things.

     “Besides, we haven’t decided what Kym will do. That’s why we are here.” I looked at my watch again. “What do you think, Kym? Baby or ‘Borty?”

     The Rat was staring openly at us now.

     It was between sets and none of the vermin had enough to do. The backdoor was cracked open and I could see the mice outside smoking.

     The Cockroach was getting away with grabbing children as they ran past.  They’d scream and laugh and run past again. The Cockroach had some candy in his pocket. I hoped that is what it was, anyway…

    “Do you want to get us more ice?” Kym asked the rat, rattling her cup.

     He inched closer but didn’t make a move to get ice.

     “The Chato Y’ Cheeses is a Pro-Family environment,” he said, instead. “I couldn’t help but overhear you discussing murder of an unborn child.”

     “Uh…right. Why don’t you mind your own business?” I suggested, pointing to the Cockroach who was now leading a small boy into the bathroom by waggling a tootsie roll at him. I hoped it was a tootsie roll.

     “Which one of you is With Child?” asked the Pro-Life Rat.

     We all just stared at one another.

     “You are,” he said to Sylvia. “I can always tell. You are glowing!”

     “That is grease from your shitty pizza.” Kym replied, wiping at Sylvia’s shiny chin.

     “You two evil women are harrassing her into killing her child!" the minimum wage health hazard scolded Kym and I,  

     "You have a choice,” the Rat told Sylvia. “Choose LIFE!”

     He grabbed both her hands in his dirty pink ones. His nails were long and filthy.

     Sylvia loved the attention.  He petted her hair. You could almost hear her eggs getting hopeful.

    The mice had gotten back from their cigarette break and were starting to fake the warm up.

      “You know, there’s a kid in the bathroom with that Cockroach,” I told the Rat, who ignored everything but Sylvia, who was, indeed, glowing now.

     Time was up. I had to go. Kym and I stood. The pizza was giving someone gas.

     “Sylvia, I don’t think anyone wants what’s inside of you right now,” I warned.

     “Don’t listen to her. Listen to your heart.” The rat murmured.

     “That’s not what’s making all the noise,” Kym muttered.

     We left Sylvia weeping into the Rat’s matted furr.