Confession....

I must confess. I have issues. Serious, serious issues. Food issues. I love food. If you get between me and my meal, you'd better look out cause you're fixin to get smacked. I wasn't always this way. I think I began my food obsession in college, but that's another story for another day.

I don't understand those people that look at the clock and say, "Oh gee. I forgot to eat." Me, I'm always checking the clock, thinking, "Two more hours to dinner! I think I'll eat a cookie." That being said, on Friday I was on my way home from Paris and stopped off at a fast food establishment that will remain anonymous to protect the innocent. Now, having two kids in the car, I decided to go through the drive thru. It was already 2 and I hadn't eaten since that morning (that's a lie. I'd had a protein bar at 11, so I wasn't starving) and was becoming ravenous. I pull up to the speaker and wait. And wait.

"We'll be with you in a minute."

Ok. No biggee. Hmmm. Do I want the grilled chicken salad or the number 5. I think I want the number 5 so I can get fries, but I really need to be good and just get the salad. What to do what to do.

Five minutes pass of me debating between the salad and the trans fat laden french fry meal.

"We'll be with you in a minute."

"Ummm. Ok?"

Another five minutes pass and I finally place my order. I get the salad. I pull up, pay the nice woman in the drive thru and she tells me to pull ahead, that someone would bring my order right out. So, I pull up. I check my email, play solitaire, listen to Nemo, twiddle my thumbs, and wait. And wait. TWENTY FIVE MINUTES PASS BY!!!! Umm, helllooooo? This is FAST food?

I drive around and pull up to the drive thru window. I'm ticked. I'm hungry. And I want my money back. The lady in the drive thru window looked at me and said, "Hold on a minute, let me get you some crackers."

"No, actually I will NOT hold on a minute. I want my money back. I don't want the salad."

So after some more finger tapping and eye rolling, she gets my money back and I ask to speak to the manager. "He's the one that was handing this order." "And?"

The manager comes to the window. He's all of nineteen years old. He blows me off and sends me on my way.

Oh, no you didn't! I call the headquarters for this establishment and tattle. Yes, I did! I told them exactly what happened! I pulled into this joint at 2:10 and left saladless at 2:50. I was pissed. Like I said, you don't come between me and my food. I might bite. Hard.

By the way, I did stop later and got a grilled chicken salad. And a large order of fries. I burn lots of calories when I yell.