Like most malls these days, the one nearest me decided that stores were not enough. They started with a carousel, which looked somewhat classy. They added a play area, which mostly served as a holding cell for the children waiting for the carousel (or working off a sugar rush prior to boarding the carousel). Then they added an adorable little train that went in loops around the lower level and almost hit oblivious shoppers despite the constant horn alerting all children within earshot that there was a CHOO-CHOO in the MALL!!!

I had hoped it would only be for Christmas. But I was wrong.

I know the train sounds great in theory. What little kid doesn’t love trains? My daughter especially loves to chase the train as it makes its little loops around, clearing a path for her unsteady toddler sprint. I don’t mind that part too much. Usually we visit the mall as a way to expel some pre-nap energy on rainy days, and the train works well for that.

What I do mind is the inevitable moment that the train stops and my sweet little girl runs up to the door of whatever color car she has set her heart on while the carny-like worker chivalrously opens the door for her and grins at me, as if challenging me to try to be a bitch and keep her from going.

But here’s the thing: I would not be just paying for my daughter to ride. She is still just a tad too young to go by herself (those extra large, wide windows are just beckoning to a young Indiana Jones in training.) So I have to go with her. But unlike the carousel, which does not charge me to hold my child on a horse and fight back waves of nausea while squealing along with my happy tot, the train charges me to fold myself into a miniature car and monitor my happy child.

It’s a pain in the ass. Literally and figuratively.

I’m 5’6 and wildly uncomfortable in there. I’ve seen men and women much taller than I am sitting in train cars with their knees tucked under their chins, grinning through the pain so their child doesn’t recognize the fact that this is indeed borderline torture for them. I’m pretty sure they designed things like this in the middle ages to punish criminals. But at least that was acknowledged as torture. Chances are these people paid just as much as their delighted children to suffer.

It’s not just the mall train, either. Carnival and boardwalk rides seem to find a hidden joy in charging parents just as much as their eager children to suffer in miniature elephants and tiny trucks. I can see their sadistic smiles as limbs are nearly lost in an attempt to squeeze into a car designed for a two year old.

Can we please cut the sh*t already?

We are not riding for our personal amusement. TRUST ME! I have zero interest in moving in slow circles around people who might know and/or judge me. We are riding for the sole purpose of keeping our little ones safe while they have the momentary time of their lives. I have no problem whatsoever paying for my daughter. In fact, part of the problem is sometimes I shell out too much money paying for myself to ride beside her and have to cut her off from future rides. Or clothes. Or food. Or shelter.

I don’t mean to sound cheap. I’m just arguing with the principle here. I would even just be content with paying half price for myself. I just want some kind of justification that the ride experience is not the same for me as it is for someone half my size.

And if someone disagrees, perhaps they would like to spend some more time in that miniature caboose.