Madness

We decided to get out of the house last Friday and go out to dinner. Nothing fancy - we have two toddlers - just a little change of scenery. So we drove up to Rooster's (our favorite wings on the planet). Now, if we'd thought about this plan at all, we would have realized that A) it was Friday night, and we were going to a favorite Happy Hour destination, B) it was St. Patrick's Day, and C) the NCAA basketball tournament was in full swing, and Rooster's is wholly infested with TV's tuned to sports.

Not being the type to think these things through, and not being the type to take hints, we forged ahead. We saw the parking lot was overflowing, so my lovely wife hopped out to check on the wait times. The next table that opened up was ours. Meanwhile, I had to find a place to put the car. I circled and circled and circled the building, hoping for somebody to leave. People with styrofoam boxes in their hands! Perfect. I'll just zip around the building and catch their spot on the way out... Of course, you already know that somebody else popped right in and beat me to it. So round and round we drove, like sharks in a tank at feeding time. Finally, I got a spot, right next to the dumpster. The rotting onion smell was almost enough to make my knees buckle.

So I got the kids out of the car and hustled them in. Surely all that time circling the parking lot put us closer to having a table. No, the people at the tables weren't even eating their food yet. So we waited in the foyer. The kids bounced off the walls, and pestered people talking on their cell phones.

After a good long while, a table finally opened up - and was promptly filled by a group of slightly sleazy looking women adorned in their cheesiest green apparel.

Wait, what about our table? What about being next on the list? They called our name, the hostess assured us. Yeah right. And we didn't hear because we were standing RIGHT NEXT TO HER! I'm sure those girls weren't her friends either, right?

So they managed to squeeze us in to a booth... right next to the bathrooms. That turned out to be convenient, since my son announced that he had pooped just as we got to our table. So I took him into the bathroom, nearly vomited from the sickly smell of his diaper, (what has he been eating?!?) got him cleaned up and dressed, washed my hands, and ducked around the corner to our table.

Five minutes later, he pooped again. This one smelled even worse than the first one. (Is there a doctor in the house?) My eyes burned and I felt woozy. The room swam a little. At this point I realized that I had used the last of the wipes for the previous biohazard, so I had to resort to flimsy restaurant toilet paper.

(Okay, I need to interject a rant here... Do restaurants and businesses really think that buying that super-thin toilet paper is saving them money? Don't they realize that people are just going to use three times as much? Frankly, when it comes to getting shit on my hands, I'm not into cutting corners. That's an area where I'm just not willing to skimp. Please, spend the extra 50 cents and buy the good stuff, okay?)

Sorry. Back to Rooster's. So now we finally get to order our food. The twice-requested booster seats have still not arrived. My daughter is in hyperactive hyperdrive, and my son is arguing about which sippy cup is his. My wife and I have now swapped sides, which upset the kids to no end. I just couldn't handle another round of toxic cleanup.

At long last, we get some booster seats, and some beer. Guess who immediately plunges her hand into my glass and spills it all over herself, the table, and her daddy....

What were we thinking?

The wings arrived.

And they were Good. So good, in fact, it was all worth it. And no, I'm not kidding.

We still had to go back by the dumpster before going home, just to make sure my nasal passages were abused to the maximum possible extent. It may have been worth it, but we will definitely think things through a little more before our next trip....