At the end of a long LONG day of two baseball games and out in the hot sun, I decided that Chipotle was going to get our business for dinner. I herded the crazy squad into the establishment and pointed to the bar-top tables. “You guys sit here and wait for mommy to order.”
I looked at them sitting there. “Gosh, those are high, I thought. I really hope none of them fall off & make a scene.” I turn around to go about the relatively mind bending task of putting together the order: non-spicy for the boys, medium spicy for me and super spicy for Dave. I got to the choice of cheese or sour cream and one of the female employees tapped me on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, is that your child?,” she pointed behind her. I turned around and TJ was on top of the bar top table dancing around like he just doesn’t give a rip who’s watching. My jaw dropped and I ran over and manhandled him off the table. With TJ firmly pinned under one arm, I slinked back to the counter, afraid to look the employees in the eye. The 18-year-old server smiled at me and said under his breath “That’s just boys.” I looked up and saw the twinkle in his eye.
I half smiled and with a crazy wiggling 2.5 year old under my arm, I paid for our food. I looked at the cashier and said, “I’m going to put these guys in the car then come back for the food.”
When I walked back through the doors, they were waiting for me at the door, with bag in hand.
We are the reason drive-thrus were invented.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
