OK, this really doesn’t merit an entry in the “Spooksville” category, but I’m going to put it here because I’m feeling a bit unsettled and afraid after my abnormally pleasant experience at McDonald’s today.

The kids had done a great job with their chores and the whole house was in “show condition”, so I magnanimously offered to take them out to the eating establishment of their choice. Of course they chose McDonald’s, to my perennial distress. Why? Because the Happy Meals there are now doing some kind of Neopet promotion, a toy/subculture/world that Savanna is heavily into at present.

I squared my shoulders and prepared to endure the towering hypocrisy that is McDonald’s: a restaurant that doesn’t serve edible food. The kids say they like the food, but (1) I don’t believe them—I believe they like the Happy Meal toys and the hamster-tube playground, and (2) if you have kids, you know that they have a penchant for putting lots of things in their mouths that aren’t food.

Outside, it looked like the plastic, unappetizing place I remembered, but as we crossed the threshold, I nearly tripped, disoriented, swaying briefly as I grappled with my perceptions. The inside had been seriously renovated and looked like an upscale restaurant, with dark carved wood trim, and booths upholstered with cloth. The plastic tubular playplace was still there, but its design motif stopped at its own internal boundary instead of influencing the rest of the establishment, like it used to.

I got the kids their Hapless Meals, and got myself one of their new chicken salads. As I sat in my tastefully appointed booth, eating what appeared to be, in every respect, a healthy meal, I found myself slowly lowering my guard. I could go to this restaurant and eat…food.

I came home and reported this amazing journey to Lizbeth, who pointed out that my reaction was just what McDonald’s had wanted: the kids were having fun, and now the parents could have fun as well. Aha! I knew that a simple desire to serve food was far too shallowly altruistic to explain the surely considerable expenditure of remodeling in this way.

What has me worried now is: what else is up their sleeve? For what nefarious purpose are they luring people like me, using carrots, lettuce, and tomatoes, to dine regularly within their walls? Something like Eating Raoul meets The Stepford Wives?