Tacos and Crackheads

Before you read this, remember this quote:

"Wise would have been yesterday, Kendra. Wise would have been today until you got off the Mass Pike."

So, the theme of this week's posts is evidently Dining Out with the Human Hippo Hybrid. Yesterday, I must have been feeling the festiveness of Chanukkah, because I visited not one but two fast food establishments, which is not in keeping with the healthy preggo diet, and really has nothing to do with high Jewish holidays, but I am looking for some way to justify the gluttony that was. I suppose it all would be better explained by the fact that I am looking much like a gordita and a chalupa all wrapped up in an empanada these days, so why not eat all three for dinner.

I got home and Lovey was pretending to interview Randy Moss which you won't understand since you weren't there, but you will understand when I tell you that I had barely set my bag down before telling my husband the mock sportscaster that we were going to go to Toxic Hell for dinner.

The last time I had visited a Toxic Hell was possibly three years ago and I can assure you that no food product ending in a vowel was consumed. Needless to say, I did not know what we were getting into when we drove three miles into the next town to find ourselves the mecca of toxicity, slathered in hot sauce.

I know that we all have our fast food attendant horror stories, but I do not exaggerate when I say that there were three people in line, but you would have thought the cashier was under water. 10,000 leagues under Grade D meat. This may have been due to the fact that the crackhead (aka Presumed Substance Abuser) in front of us needed to order the whole menu, and to really think deeply by scratching his head and rubbing his eye sockets, about whether or not that was going to be enough, and could you make change for two twenties, and wait, "Slow your roll! I haven't ordered for myself yet!" Twelve minutes passed and Lovey and I were trying so hard to swallow our laughter, we were on the brink of combustion.

There were roughly four tables, three of which were covered in several years worth of grated cheese (aged tastes better) and the other was occupied by the Substance Abusers Anonymous.

I ordered a soft taco and the nachos del wimpy, and Lovey got exactly what he didn't order, but as the line was now a dozen deep and the cashier was still doggie paddling and trying to come up for air, there was no choice but to eat the mixed grille of toxins before us and keep right on laughing.

As I was rounding the corner towards nacho home, I contemplated the last few bites and announced, "I think it would be wise if I stopped here."

At which point the sage man that I copulated with eight months ago said, "Wise would have been yesterday, Kendra. Wise would have been today until you got off the Mass Pike."

I so did not buy that sage man a good enough Christmas present.