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R. Linda:
I came home this rainy night to logy people. Tonya had her head in her hand sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea. The Airport was in the den watching the telly, completely zoned out on cartoons, the littlest one was sitting on the floor sucking his fingers ready for a nap. Me, I was wet (forgot me brolly) and standing in the kitchen making a puddle from me dripping overcoat. I couldn't move really, the atmosphere had me almost asleep on me feet until the dog came bounding in from wherever she had been and jumped on me, pushing me against the fridge while that awful wet tongue of hers took to me already wet face.
"Stopppppppppp it!" I said pushing the hound back and trying to avoid the tongue licking, but she managed to catch me hand. If there is one thing about that dog I do not like it is that slurpy tongue. Why she has to always lick me, I have no idea. I can put me hand out to pet her head and slurppppppp and me hand is wet like I ran it under a garden hose, only it is slobber wet. I can walk passed her and slurppppppp out comes that tongue and she's got me an arm full of dog slobber.
"What's for dinner?" I asked the sleepy wife, as I fought to fend off the dog.
She yawned and looked at me like I was a nutter. Ok, I knew this had to be her night off. I didn't know there were such things, but in me abode there are and it isn't just one day out of the month, it can be everyday of the week sometimes. Depends on if she was working or not, and the NOT sometimes counts because then the excuse is the dirty house, the dirty laundry, the dirty kiddies, the dirty dog. The cat is the only one that seems to never be included in why she's too tired to cook.
"I'll cook, what have we got?" I said opening the fridge while at the same time holding off the bouncing dog and the "tongue."
"There's nothing in there. I didn't shop, the kids were irritable . . . " she yawned.
Well, that meant we go out for fast food. Oh goody, just what this fat-fat-fatty wants to do. Get fatter on McDonalds.
"You could always order a kids happy meal. The portions are smaller," she said and the Airport with those undeniably good ears came running in and shouts up at me, "And daddy you get the prize and you can give it to me!"
Yeah so cute, the shining eager eyes looking up at me, the hands around me knees, so innocent, so cute, so materialistic.
"Buddy, I can't do McDonalds I really can't. I had a burger for lunch. Can we go somewhere else, maybe Chinese?"
"No, no Chinese after the Chinese journey you took me on last summer. I don't want to see the inside or the outside of a golden something or other ever again," Tonya said waving a hand in the air, ending with a snap, snap. "How about we go to the diner in Milford, the Red Robin?"
"Red Arrow. Yeah they have good stuff, ok." I said and everyone got ready and off we went. Now I've been there a few times after they first opened. This place is renown for its diner food in Manchester and the presidential candidates usually drop in there for lunch when on the campaign trail. Well, they opened the Red Arrow 2 in the sleepy town of Milford so we decided we'd go to that one since it was closer.
We got a fairly decent parking space on the oval and the Airport found every puddle he could as we made our splashing way to the diner. We lucked out and got a table right away by a window where we could look out at the bandstand through the rain. For an early Friday evening, the place was hopping and the traffic around the oval was filled with zooming motors and one police car with flashing lights making its way through the traffic to (I suspect) the Dunkin Donuts down the road. We ordered and sat back to sip our drinks in quiet conversation, but that was only us. Everyone else was talking like they were hard of hearing. The 50s music was playing in the background, but you couldn't hear Annette Funciello singing "First Name Initial" for everyone else chattering and the clatter of crockery. I was watching the Airport colour when Tonya says through her teeth at me, "Remind me the next time I don't feel good about myself, to come here."
"Why is that?" I asked, keeping me voice as low as hers.
"Look around, there isn't a thin person in here."
And sure enough, there was not. I be talking over 200 pounds easy. I was startled at first, then stunned. Here I had been complaining about me weight gain and seeing fat America around me, I suddenly felt like a svelte skeleton. Yes, I did. I noticed that the women, most all of them were sporting those helmet haircuts where they have buzzed it all off and their hair is a short as a mans, and if that's a look they think makes them look thinner, I can say right now, it does the opposite. It makes them look like they have huge shoulders and a pin head. And the sad shame was the teens that were in there -- not a thin one in the crowd.
"Oh my," I said, "you're right. Wow, where is Jamie Oliver when you need him?"
And no wonder, I had the blue plate special which was: two sirloin burgers covered in melted cheese, topped with two eggs and swimming in Hollandaise sauce with a plate full of home fries. I ate only half the burger and one or two of the fries, it was that filling. I was going to order the Lasagna until I saw an order go whizzing by me and it was enough to feed six people easy and still have leftovers!
While we were eating, a couple had ordered chili and the waitress swept the empty chili cups off the table and one of the spoons went careening out of the cup to the floor where it slid FIFTEEN feet to behind the counter. I now know what the term 'greasy spoon' means. I couldn't believe it, the damn spoon had taken on a life of it's own! She couldn't catch it.
That got Tonya looking around and her face began to register a scowl so I asked what was the matter?
"This place needs a cleaning. Look at the floor."
I looked down, and yeah it was a bit in need of a good sweep. But let's be fair it is a 24 hour a day operation and it was raining outside, and I be sure they clean it in the wee hours when customers are at a minimum. But it looked fine otherwise, just me wife being critical.
We finished up, none of us able to finish an entire entree' and I wanted to say to Tonya,"waste not, want not" but the food was so greasy she wouldn't get the joke. I'd get a "are you crazy, look at the grease, I'm not feeding our children THIS it will be congealed by the time we get home, yuck." We waddled out empty handed, just a few dollars lighter. As I walked through the diner to the door, I noticed not a skinny guy in there and felt really great. Yes I did, I felt like a male fashion model, looking good.
We are home and moping about for the heavy food we have greased our insides full of. I feel bloated and fat again or fluffy as you call it. I need to go back and park outside that place and watch the heavy weights go in and out and maybe I'll feel better when I look down at me muffin-top, which is nothing compared to the guts in the diner, or as the Airport asked, "Mommy why are those ladies wearing tyres under their shirts?"
Yeah, I be trash talking fat folks. I know here we go again, but like Jamie Oliver says, Americans are a fat society and here I be, a token Irishman beginning to fit in. Woe is me.
Gabe
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I came home this rainy night to logy people. Tonya had her head in her hand sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of tea. The Airport was in the den watching the telly, completely zoned out on cartoons, the littlest one was sitting on the floor sucking his fingers ready for a nap. Me, I was wet (forgot me brolly) and standing in the kitchen making a puddle from me dripping overcoat. I couldn't move really, the atmosphere had me almost asleep on me feet until the dog came bounding in from wherever she had been and jumped on me, pushing me against the fridge while that awful wet tongue of hers took to me already wet face.
"Stopppppppppp it!" I said pushing the hound back and trying to avoid the tongue licking, but she managed to catch me hand. If there is one thing about that dog I do not like it is that slurpy tongue. Why she has to always lick me, I have no idea. I can put me hand out to pet her head and slurppppppp and me hand is wet like I ran it under a garden hose, only it is slobber wet. I can walk passed her and slurppppppp out comes that tongue and she's got me an arm full of dog slobber.
"What's for dinner?" I asked the sleepy wife, as I fought to fend off the dog.
She yawned and looked at me like I was a nutter. Ok, I knew this had to be her night off. I didn't know there were such things, but in me abode there are and it isn't just one day out of the month, it can be everyday of the week sometimes. Depends on if she was working or not, and the NOT sometimes counts because then the excuse is the dirty house, the dirty laundry, the dirty kiddies, the dirty dog. The cat is the only one that seems to never be included in why she's too tired to cook.
"I'll cook, what have we got?" I said opening the fridge while at the same time holding off the bouncing dog and the "tongue."
"There's nothing in there. I didn't shop, the kids were irritable . . . " she yawned.
Well, that meant we go out for fast food. Oh goody, just what this fat-fat-fatty wants to do. Get fatter on McDonalds.
"You could always order a kids happy meal. The portions are smaller," she said and the Airport with those undeniably good ears came running in and shouts up at me, "And daddy you get the prize and you can give it to me!"
Yeah so cute, the shining eager eyes looking up at me, the hands around me knees, so innocent, so cute, so materialistic.
"Buddy, I can't do McDonalds I really can't. I had a burger for lunch. Can we go somewhere else, maybe Chinese?"
"No, no Chinese after the Chinese journey you took me on last summer. I don't want to see the inside or the outside of a golden something or other ever again," Tonya said waving a hand in the air, ending with a snap, snap. "How about we go to the diner in Milford, the Red Robin?"
"Red Arrow. Yeah they have good stuff, ok." I said and everyone got ready and off we went. Now I've been there a few times after they first opened. This place is renown for its diner food in Manchester and the presidential candidates usually drop in there for lunch when on the campaign trail. Well, they opened the Red Arrow 2 in the sleepy town of Milford so we decided we'd go to that one since it was closer.
We got a fairly decent parking space on the oval and the Airport found every puddle he could as we made our splashing way to the diner. We lucked out and got a table right away by a window where we could look out at the bandstand through the rain. For an early Friday evening, the place was hopping and the traffic around the oval was filled with zooming motors and one police car with flashing lights making its way through the traffic to (I suspect) the Dunkin Donuts down the road. We ordered and sat back to sip our drinks in quiet conversation, but that was only us. Everyone else was talking like they were hard of hearing. The 50s music was playing in the background, but you couldn't hear Annette Funciello singing "First Name Initial" for everyone else chattering and the clatter of crockery. I was watching the Airport colour when Tonya says through her teeth at me, "Remind me the next time I don't feel good about myself, to come here."
"Why is that?" I asked, keeping me voice as low as hers.
"Look around, there isn't a thin person in here."
And sure enough, there was not. I be talking over 200 pounds easy. I was startled at first, then stunned. Here I had been complaining about me weight gain and seeing fat America around me, I suddenly felt like a svelte skeleton. Yes, I did. I noticed that the women, most all of them were sporting those helmet haircuts where they have buzzed it all off and their hair is a short as a mans, and if that's a look they think makes them look thinner, I can say right now, it does the opposite. It makes them look like they have huge shoulders and a pin head. And the sad shame was the teens that were in there -- not a thin one in the crowd.
"Oh my," I said, "you're right. Wow, where is Jamie Oliver when you need him?"
And no wonder, I had the blue plate special which was: two sirloin burgers covered in melted cheese, topped with two eggs and swimming in Hollandaise sauce with a plate full of home fries. I ate only half the burger and one or two of the fries, it was that filling. I was going to order the Lasagna until I saw an order go whizzing by me and it was enough to feed six people easy and still have leftovers!
While we were eating, a couple had ordered chili and the waitress swept the empty chili cups off the table and one of the spoons went careening out of the cup to the floor where it slid FIFTEEN feet to behind the counter. I now know what the term 'greasy spoon' means. I couldn't believe it, the damn spoon had taken on a life of it's own! She couldn't catch it.
That got Tonya looking around and her face began to register a scowl so I asked what was the matter?
"This place needs a cleaning. Look at the floor."
I looked down, and yeah it was a bit in need of a good sweep. But let's be fair it is a 24 hour a day operation and it was raining outside, and I be sure they clean it in the wee hours when customers are at a minimum. But it looked fine otherwise, just me wife being critical.
We finished up, none of us able to finish an entire entree' and I wanted to say to Tonya,"waste not, want not" but the food was so greasy she wouldn't get the joke. I'd get a "are you crazy, look at the grease, I'm not feeding our children THIS it will be congealed by the time we get home, yuck." We waddled out empty handed, just a few dollars lighter. As I walked through the diner to the door, I noticed not a skinny guy in there and felt really great. Yes I did, I felt like a male fashion model, looking good.
We are home and moping about for the heavy food we have greased our insides full of. I feel bloated and fat again or fluffy as you call it. I need to go back and park outside that place and watch the heavy weights go in and out and maybe I'll feel better when I look down at me muffin-top, which is nothing compared to the guts in the diner, or as the Airport asked, "Mommy why are those ladies wearing tyres under their shirts?"
Yeah, I be trash talking fat folks. I know here we go again, but like Jamie Oliver says, Americans are a fat society and here I be, a token Irishman beginning to fit in. Woe is me.
Gabe
Copyright © 2010 All rights reserved
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