A week later, Charlie was gastrointestinally sound, so he was out to dinner with Michael, Fiona, Sam, and Jesse. Charlie had picked the restaurant. He wanted something with entertainment to accompany his meal – dinner and a show, if you will.

Chuck E. Cheese.

They were celebrating the one-month anniversary of Charlie's last toileting accident. He was a potty pro now. Some of Michael's online friends in his group had suggested doing something to mark the occasion.

Upon arrival, Jesse had gone immediately to the counter, handed his AmEx to a teenaged employee with stretched earlobes and a nose ring, and bought $100 worth of tokens.

Sam had gone immediately to the other counter and ordered ten beers and five pizzas. Michael was being weird about junk food again (still?) and Fiona claimed she was going to have only salad and beer, so Sam figured five would be enough for Charlie, Jesse, and himself. To start with, anyway. Probably would need to get a second round at some point.

Despite there being three men in their group, Fiona had drawn the short straw to take Charlie to the bathroom. So they had gone immediately to the ladies' room, lest they have to start the accident-free count anew.

Michael was in charge of finding a table.

Michael had found space more easily as the fourth man in a three-man foxhole than at Chuck E. Cheese.

Finally, a large (in number and in girth) family left. Michael made eye contact with a busser and gestured for him to come clear off the table.

"Thanks, man," Michael said when the busser arrived. "I've never seen anything like this. Is it always this busy?"

"Heh. It's Thursday. This is nothin'. You should see it when birthday parties are here."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, man. Ain't nothin' like it. Like 20 kids for each party, and all they do is run around and scream. Lot of times they don't even play the games, man. My money, you just put 'em in the backyard and they'll do the same thing for free. Save yourself a few hundred bucks. Get some of those Totino's frozen pizzas and an ice chest of beer and you're good to go."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay, you're all set here."

"Great. Thanks again, Martin," said Michael, reading Martin's nametag. "Hey, Martin, I got a question for you. I figure anything gross on the pizza gets killed off in the oven. But the stuff on the salad bar. You know the guys who handle that food?"

"Tonight . . . lemme think. Yeah, it's Rachel and this new kid, Preston or Carson or some shit like that."

"Would you eat something they handled?"

"Uhh . . . well, I'll put it this way. The new kid still cares enough to wash his hands."

"Rachel not much for hygiene?"

"Rachel's not much for anything unless she can smoke it."

"Good to know, Martin." Michael handed him a $20 bill. "Enjoy some of those backyard beers on me."

"Hey, thanks, man. I appreciate it."

"You got it."

By that time, Sam was approaching the table with a tray of beer bottles. Nine were still full. Michael waved his hand high until Fiona and Charlie saw him. Fiona walked behind Charlie as he bolted to Michael.

"Where's Jesse?" Michael asked.

"Six bucks down on that basketball game over there," Sam answered.

"Isn't he taller than the machine?"

"Yeah, by an inch or two. I already let him know how much he sucks."

"I wanna pay bashtetball!" Charlie said.

"Yeah? C'mon, Charlie, I'll take you. You can sit on Jesse's shoulders. Maybe that way he'll get one in," Sam said. They made their way to Jesse, who was now examining the machine from behind, sure there was something wrong with it rather than him.

"The ladies' room is vile," Fiona said, taking a beer. "Been a long time since I've seen something that rank in a public place."

"Rachel probably was in charge of cleaning it."

"Who?"

"Never mind. Don't eat the salad."

"Whatever," said Fiona. "All right. We need to go play something because I need to beat you at something. This is ridiculous." Even with regular arm wrestling matches and the occasional naughty contest, Fiona was starved for competition.

"You're pathetic," Michael said. "Absolutely pitiful."

"Shut up. You love this about me."

Michael grinned. "Among the many things," he said, standing up and taking her hand.

"Fi, no. First we said best out of three, and you weren't best, so you said best out of five, and you still aren't best, so we're done." Michael and Fiona were having a skee ball tournament, except Fiona wouldn't let anyone else play.

"Michael, it doesn't count when that kid bumped into me!"

"Well, maybe if you'd stopped right then and said the game didn't count, I'd be with you. But you didn't. What did you do instead? Hmmm? Oh, that's right, you decided to elbow a twelve-year-old in the spleen."

"He was entirely reckless when he was walking. I presume he'll be more careful in the future. I did him a favor," said Fiona.

"Whatever, Fi. You lost and you're just going to have to deal with it because Charlie here is ready for some pizza! Right, Charlie?" Michael lifted Charlie from Jesse's shoulders to his own. Charlie used Michael's head as a drum.

"Yah peesa!"

The five of them piled into the booth Michael had snagged. Charlie, Michael, and Fiona fit fairly well on one side, especially since Charlie was mostly sitting on Michael. Jesse and Sam were nearly on top of each other on the other side. Didn't stop them from inhaling most of a pizza in three minutes.

"I propose a toast," Fiona said, lifting her bottle. "To Charlie, pee-er and pooper extraordinaire." Sam and Jesse raised their bottles, Michael raised his iced tea glass, and Charlie continued to eat pizza. "Here, Charlie, lift up your cup so we can clink," said Michael. "Cheers!" said everyone except Charlie, who was still chewing pizza.

"Y'know, Charlie, I've spent many a great hour in the bathroom," Sam said. "A man can really get some thinkin' done in there. I once mapped out a whole plan of approach for some Uzbek mountains while I was on the pot. Yeah, it'd really been gnawin' at me and I just couldn't figure out this one area without any real cover, and then all of the sudden, it just came to me. Bam! Easy peasy." He stopped to swig his beer. "And then there was that time I - "

"Sam. Stop," Michael instructed. "This can't go anywhere good."

"Oh, come on, Mike. You've crawled through a sewer. And wasn't it you who held in that guy's small intestine so it wouldn't fall out after he got run over by that Jeep? Now just hearing about the locale for my tactical genius offends your delicate sensibilities? Gimme a break. I'm not even tellin' ya what number I was doin'."

"Sam, by my count, I've saved your life three times. I'm entitled to what you consider to be an unreasonable demand every now and then. So shut it."

"Uh, excuse me, but that last time was your fault! I got shot in the gut tryin' to help you flee the country!" Sam snorted.

"Fine, that one's a wash. Still. Shut up."

"How about the both of you shut up?" interrupted Fiona. "This is an inane conversation."

"He started it," muttered Michael.

"Yuh not apposed to say 'sut up,'" Charlie said.

"You're right, Charlie. We're not supposed to say 'shut up.' We should just say, 'Uncle Michael and Uncle Sam, you are not saying a thing worth listening to, and we would greatly appreciate it if you'd stop speaking immediately.' Jesse. Why don't you move us to an appropriate conversation," Fiona said.

Jesse swallowed the enormous bite of pizza he'd shoved in his mouth. "Me? All right. Okay. Let's see. Okay, let's talk about how that basketball game was rigged. Did y'all see the rim moving just a little bit?"

Michael leaned his head all the way back and began counting the ceiling tiles.

Jesse continued. "I crawled behind the machine and I saw this big cable comin' down from the top, but it had no legitimate purpose, as far as I could tell. I think it connects to a motion detector that makes the rim move once the ball moves into the court area. That's the only explanation."

"The only explanation. I see. So how did Charlie manage to sink two baskets while he was on your shoulders?" Fiona asked.

"Well, because by that time I'd figured out the rhythm, the sway. I knew how to move to match up to how the rim moved. I got a flow goin'."

"Oh, okay, you got a flow," Sam mocked. "Jess, tell me somethin'. Don't you think if the game were really rigged, somebody would've reported it by now?"

"Not if they have so-called friends who try to gaslight 'em into thinking they're crazy. I'm telling you. I'm highly trained in observation. That rim moves. Matter of fact, soon as I finish these last two pieces, I'm gonna go demand my fourteen bucks back."

"Fourteen?" Sam said. "You were at six."

"Yeah, and I wanted to be sure."

"It took you eight more games to be sure? At five throws a game? That's forty throws, man," said Sam.

"Well, there were a lot of variables I had to account for. Whatever. What do you care? I'm not askin' you for the $14."

"I'm just sayin', on general principle they should not give you $14. Seven, maybe."

"I literally cannot remember a stupider conversation," Michael said, still looking at the ceiling.

"Yuh not apposed to say 'tupid,'" Charlie said.