I love my husband and wouldn't knowingly flirt with any other guy, but I fear I sent the wrong message to the young lad manning the drive-thru window at Arby's last night.
I have been BAD the last few days with fast food. I normally avoid the stuff, unless it's a salad. At least the last several months I have, but I had a hankering (for what, I guess I wasn't quite sure), so I popped on a tee shirt and pants, and left on a late evening trip alone for some fat crack.
I really wanted a milk shake from Chick Fil A, but they're good little worshipers and close on Sunday. While I find this heartwarming and wonderful, it really put a wrench in my craving-works, so I settled for a sandwich from Arby's. I don't quite get why my brain thought a roast beef sandwich would be a good substitute for a strawberry milkshake either.
In my lightening fast departure from home, I didn't bother with a bra. It was dark, who'd be looking, right? But then, the bright lights of the upcoming Arby's window spooked me a bit, and I quickly swung my hair, which is quite long right now, over the front of my shoulders on either side to cover my sagging, nipply self. Then I checked my work in the mirror. Then I checked the guy in the window, who was checking me out while I appeared to primp. For him. Uggh.
I grabbed my bag, sure the guy could see up the short sleeve of my shirt, through to my bare left breast, and smiled graciously. Please don't look at my boob, please! But my smile was probably not taken for the pleading for which it was designed, and instead for more flirtation. I sped off in my mini-van, realizing moments later, that I probably looked like I was trying to impress the guy with my mad driving skills and wheels to accompany them.
Humiliated, I grabbed for a bite of my sandwich. Though tasty, it was not a milkshake. So I turned toward the Dairy Queen on the other side of the intersection. But right next door is a McDonald's. They have shakes. I hate McDonald's about as much as I despise Walmart, but I didn't want a stiff shake with a spoon stuck in it; does DQ have shakes? So I swung over to McD's and added chocolate chip cookies to my small vanilla milkshake order. You try to say, "Triple Thick Shake" three times fast.
The cookies were okay, but that shake was a sorry excuse for what I really wanted. So did I drive home, conquered? No. I drove over to Dunkin Donuts. On the way, I decided I really wanted something bubbly. Root beer would have to stand in for Dr. Pepper (my fave) because it was late, and I don't need caffeine helping my thoughts keep me awake at night, so I scanned the drive thru menu. I asked the lady if they had Root Beer. She listed everything off, and Pepsi products were all they had, so I passed, and settled for two glazed donuts.
I munched on my sandwich and cookies, and didn't swallow in time. The Dunkin Donuts lady caught me with food in my mouth while I was there buying more food. At least she didn't think I had a crush on her, right?
I spotted Starbucks as I pulled away from Dunkin Donuts, and drove there, in search of my soda (which could solve the milkshake dilemma) and was politely informed by the girl in that drive thru, that they don't have fountain drinks. Well hmff.
Not to despair, I looked left, and noticed the new Hardee's was open for business, and surely they'd have a soda for me! I drove to the menu and on the window before me was an ad for Bacon Ranch Fries. OOOOH! Did a fast food chain finally realize that we all want Outback's cheese fries right in the convenience of our cars? Bra-less fries, for me!
I ordered some of the fries, and saw they also offered Root Beer. My lucky night! I pulled around, paid and took my food, and sucked down the first sip of my root beer. It was horribly under-syrupped. Ick. I'm not usually a complainer, but the stuff looked pale. I pulled back around, and let them know my problem. They happily offered to replace my drink. I opted for the Dr. Pepper after all; sleep could wait.
On my leisurely drive back home, I ate the rest of the three cookies, took a few bites of a stale donut, drank 4 or 5 sips of the shake, finished the sandwich, and drank half of my Dr. Pepper. The fries were a disappointment akin to receiving new underwear for Chirstmas instead of a toy. Think bacon bits scattered on fries coated with dripping, hot, ranch dressing.
The victory? I didn't use this crazy waste of time, calories, and money as an excuse to run out, first thing this morning for the real thing at Chick Fil A. That'll have to wait until I can justify the expense of 700 calories in my daily budget.