The Trouble With Dinner

This will be my fourth and last post today. (I told you I had a lot!)

So, after the protest, we were both hungry, thirsty, and tired. We decided to go to Union Station, and my sister was all hot to trot on Johnny Rockets, since we could be served there. So we went and stood on line waiting for a table to open up. Finally, a very nice elderly couple left and we got their booth.

So we ordered drinks and I drank a half a glass of water in about 20 seconds. Then we ordered french fries and onion rings.

This was not meant to be my day. I asked Judy for the ketchup, and went to shake it up so I could get it nice and loose and mixed up. Doesn't the cap fly off and ketchup went everywhere!?

Back when I was 8 or 9 years old, McDonald's started making salads, and I got one once, and got a packet of thousand islands dressing. The packet was damned near impossible to open, so when I finally got it open a crack, in my gusto, I squeezed the packet hard, and the dressing exploded all over the place--me, my clothes, my hair, the window of the McDonald's, the table, everything.

This was a very similar experience. There was ketchup all over my shirt, down my sister's waterglass, all over the table. I looked like I'd been shot (which we agreed would make an awesome protest story--"yeah, but you should see the other guy!").

So we clean that all up. And Judy orders a chocolate malt. She goes to pour it into her cup, and a huge clump of ice cream falls out and splashes chocolate malt all over the table. So we're giggling and trying to clean that up.

Seriously, that meal, we must have gone through about 100 napkins easily. The table was sticky, covered in ketchup and milkshake, it was a mess.

We got out of there.

So I get home last night, and I called Michael and told him, "i'm not moving, I'm not cooking, what do you want for dinner?" So he says I can get him McD's. Stop in and pick up a couple of drinks and his dinner, and get home, we eat, and I take a hot shower and get in bed.

I offer him the last of my Coke, and he's laying there talking to me while I'm trying desperately to stay awake, and then it happens... He spills the Coke right down my back. It is icy cold, and I shot out of bed like a cannonball from the barrel of a cannon.

He's there, oblivious, I'm squealing and jumping around, and he's all "What happened?"

"You just spilled Coke down my back!"

"I did?"

"Yes, and on the sheets!"

"I did?"

"And look at your shirt!"

He got it on himself and didn't even notice.

So we cleaned up, and I gave up on food and beverages for the day and passed out cold... :-\

Hopefully everything cooperates better today!