Lunch Time Adventure

It was lunch time and I was hungry, a little hungry, not the - I could eat a horse kind of hungry - which makes me wonder - Ever find yourself getting half way through eating a horse and think "hmmmm...perhaps I'm not as hungry as I thought I was"?
I wanted a small meal - and found myself craving a "Happy Meal" (I blame the progesterone) and all of the sudden it occurred to me: If I go to McDonald's down the road and place my order via the drive-thru window . . . how would they ever know that the ordered Happy Meal was for me? Unless the drive-thru operator’s camera scans your car for humanoid shapes under four feet? But I’m sure I’ve never heard the disembodied voice ask, “Is that for a child ma’am?” whenever anyone in front of me ordered a Happy Meal, so maybe they don’t check.
Also, if interrogated, I could always say my child is at home, too sick to accompany me. “She has the plague! And her dying wish is for a Happy Meal!” I’m sure they’d fork it over and probably feel really guilty, which would be a bonus. So that was my plan, as I set out for lunch, full of anticipation and fear and hunger. To SCAM a Happy Meal out of McDonald’s and eat it by thirty six year old self.
I was nervous as I drove up “One Happy Meal, please,” I said in a trembling voice. “Boy or girl?” Whaaat? I was not prepared for this question. Why did it matter? Were they trying to trick me into screaming “NONE OF THE ABOVE” and tearing out of there? Terrified and confused, I said, “I’m sorry?” “Do you want a girl’s toy or boy’s?”
Ohhhhhh, right. ‘Cuz you get a toy. I said, “Girl” but regretted it almost immediately, because I bet the boy toy is better. “What would you like?” Again, stymied! I would like a Happy Meal! A Girl Happy Meal! What other information am I supposed to provide? The jig is up! They’re onto me. Should I bail or fake my way through this? I faked it.
“Uhhh . . . chicken nuggets and fries?” No response. Phew. Either that was the right answer or they had pulled up my personal information on their computer and the cops were waiting at my house.
“Milk or apple juice?” Oh, man, I was getting away with it! This was starting to feel fun. Plus — apple juice! No wonder they call this a Happy Meal! But I still had to get by the cashier. I was ready for anything she might say: “You are buying this for a child aren’t you?” but that didn't happen happen. I paid and received my greasy bag. Off I sped, shaking with triumph. So was it worth it? Oh, yes but ask me in an hour when it hits my digestive system and I may be singing a different tune.
At least my toy is cool...and it lights up...Sweet!

Happy Wednesday!


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