OMG The Food Was So Good.
The best thing about being on vacation, I think, is eating out. All the time. I never have to cook – not that I cook much at home anyway. Better yet, I don’t have to hear complaints about what is being served. So after 16 days on the road with no fast food, and including five – yes, five – all-you-can-eat Vegas buffets, I was saddened to remember that I would have to make dinner when I got home.
My parents, angels that they are, not only took care of our dog while we were gone but also supplied us with a slew of groceries. So we were all set.
As luck would have it, though, Dylan was invited to a friend’s house just before dinnertime. Immediately thereafter, Shane said, “Could we go to a movie while Dylan’s at his friend’s house?”
So Dylan ate at his friend’s house, Shane and I had peanut butter sandwiches on the way to the theater, and Bill fended for himself. (He probably ate out.)
A few hours later, I got a text from Dylan, who was still at his friend’s house: “Omg the food was so good.”
He sent this – did I mention – after 16 days of eating at relatively nice restaurants including five buffets.
So when he got home, I asked what he ate. He went on for ten minutes. “It was this, like, chicken with rice and beans, and the whole thing was in salsa and it was just really, really good.”
“You don’t like salsa. I’ve given you ten different kinds of salsa and you wouldn’t eat any of it.”
“Well apparently it has to be really good salsa.”
“And you hate rice. I’ve made rice 100,000 times and you won’t eat it – not brown rice, white rice, fried rice – no rice. You never eat rice!”
“Well it was okay when it was all mixed in with the other stuff.”
“Like the salsa.”
“Yeah, and the chicken. The chicken was so good, I could hardly stop eating it.”
The next day I went to the grocery store and bought a chicken. We had corn and sweet potato fries with it – but I bought the chicken (roasted from the store) because Dylan had made such a fuss about the chicken the night before.
When Dylan walked into the room, he saw the chicken, corn on the cob (thanks, Mom!) and sweet potato fries (thanks, Bill!). Dylan said, “Oh good, sweet potato fries so I don’t have to eat the chicken.”
“But I bought that chicken for you!” I wailed.
“What? Why? I don’t even like chicken.”
“Because yesterday you said you loved the chicken you ate! So I was trying to get you something you would love!”
“Well I don’t like this kind of chicken,” he said. “I’ve never liked this kind of chicken.”
“You have to eat this chicken anyway,” I moaned. “I bought it for you.”
“Well I don’t know why,” said Dylan. “I don’t even like chicken.”