Happy Meal?!
Nay, my friend. Nay, I say.
Foul Meal. Smelly Meal. Not-A-True-Food-Product Meal.
I was sucked into the McDonald's drive-thru today for lunch. Sucked in like one might expect to be sucked into a black hole. A black hole peopled with freeze dried beef and pseudo potatoes and lumpy purple monsters called Grimace.
Grimace. How appropriate.
I picked up my littlest ones from school. They lavished me with gifts made of their own sweet hands. Delicious Mother's Day morsels. They had stamped their precious hands on construction paper and written lovely poems praising their perfect Mama. Me. I'm their perfect Mama, in case you were momentarily confused.
I could picture myself at the ripe old age of 98 holding those tiny hand prints, limbs shaking, eye sight weak. I would wonder where the time and my babies had gone. I would reminisce about days of yore when I was young-ish and beautiful. (Yeah. I just called myself beautiful. Wrong, I know. Don't worry. It won't last long.)
My children looked at me with tender Love-drop eyes. They hugged me with tiny arms. Kissed me with scrumptious baby lips. my eyes filled with tears. I was moved. I wanted to offer them the world in return for these gifts.
"Can we go to McDonald's?" they asked with their scrumtious baby lips and Love-drop eyes.
How could I say no? How could I deny those Love-drop eyes the only simple pleasure they desired?
I can't stand the smell of McDonald's so we compromised by using the Drive-Thru.
I ordered them Happy Meals. They were delighted with the toys.
I ordered myself a grilled chicken sandwich. No Mayo. No bacon. No cheese. No funny business what ever.
But seeing as how McDonald's boasts a clown with terrifying, over-sized shoes and a hideous yellow jumper one cannot expect too much. McDonald's clearly thrives on Funny Business.
I sat at the window.
A gelatinous, sweaty man handed me the so-called Happy Meals. I took them. Waited expectantly for my chicken sandwich. I planned to toss the bun out the window to save calories.
The gelatinous, sweaty man sneered at me.
"There are other customers behind you. You can't sit here all day."
WHAT? WHAT THE HELL DID THAT GELATINOUS, SWEATY MAN JUST SAY? OOOOO There is no wrath like the wrath of a woman sneered by a fat, drippy McDonald's employee!
"I'm waiting for you to do your job and get my order right," I snapped.
I NEVER snap. Ok. Well. I RARELY snap. But this guy had it comin'.
He looked nervous.
Have you ever noticed that if you are nastier than a nasty person they suddenly cease to be nasty and become all accommodating?
"What was your order Ma'am?"
WHAT DID HE JUST CALL ME?? OLD? WRINKLED? SCABBY? HOW DARE HE CALL ME MA'AM!
I spat my order furiously. Then I glared. You don't want to be on the recieving end of THIS glare. I assure you. I'll melt your damn eyelids off your face. They'll drip into your eyes and nose. Then where will you be?
The fat man had the last laugh though.
He humbly handed me a white paper bag.
"Sorry for the misunderstanding, Ma'am."
"HMPH!" said I.
As I pulled away I opened the bag and found the most disgusting, fatty, heart-attack inducing burger McDonald's has to offer.
There was no way I was going to unload myself, my children and The Foul Food and walk into that Den of Grease to set the story straight.
I ate the burger.
I wasn't so bad.
