Her: I’m getting hungry.
Me: Where would you like to eat?
Oh, anywhere is fine.
Well, how about Cracker Barrel? (as we pass one)
Nah, they are usually so crowded.
Olive Garden?
Nah, too heavy. Plus the wait is always so long. It’s just spaghetti. Why should that take so long?
How about the Texas Roadhouse?
That place is so noisy I can’t think straight.
How about the Long Horn or Logans?
No. I don’t think I want steak.
Applebees or Oh Charlies?
I can never find anything I like on their menus.
Fridays? Ruby Tuesdays? Next Thursday?
Don’t be silly. There is no such place as Next Thursday.
How about that Mexican place in the shopping center?
Those waiters are to mean there.
They are real Mexicans. I think they probably just have a hard time understanding English. What about El Toro or La Fiesta?
Nah. I don’t feel very Mexicany.
By now, I’m considering driving to Mexico and leaving her south of the border.
Arbys? McDonalds? Wendys?
I call them off as we pass them by.
No. No fast food.
We have just passed every restaurant in town and are getting ready to head out into the country where the only restaurants are grassy fields for cows (also known as Lawn Mooers, or if they are laying down; Ground Beef)
I pull into a parking lot and turn off the car.
Her: What are you doing?
Me: I thought I would save precious fossil fuels and do my bit to help save the planet until we decide where you want to eat.
You don’t have to get snitty with me.
Well, where do you want to eat?
Oh, anything is fine….
