Waiter, there's an anaconda in my soup

"The following safari is about to begin: Flora, party of seven? Flora, party of seven, your safari adventure is about to begin. Please bring your passport to the pink elephant."

Yesterday we went to one of those restaurants in the mall with an over-the-top jungle theme, complete with elaborate faux folliage, fish tanks, rain falling from the ceilings, and mechanical alligators and elephants and gorillas who periodically erupted with activity and NOISE.

Whyon earth were we at such a place, you might ask? Were we trapped inside the mall during a Homeland Security lock-down exericise, with no other options for sustenance? No. We were meeting up with friends who were staying by the airport on their way out of town, and they had an infant and a 3-year-old in tow. And let me tell you, that toddler had the look of someone stoned on pure happiness.

So I can understand why parents bring their kids there. They serve alcohol, to numb the pain for the grown-ups. What I don't understand is all the teenaged prom-going couples who were dining there, in their black ties and evening gowns. Clearly, I am completely out of touch with the youth of our time.