How much are apple slices? $10.
The tale of today’s impromptu and regrettable trip through the Wendy’s drive-thru begins ten years ago during my senior year of high school. As the lead minion to the Wicked Witch in the Kansas munchkin dreamland, I was dedicated to my role. Due to lack of athletic coordination and amateur rope technicians two years my junior, my left rotator cuff was torn in a flying trapeze catastrophe making the wearing of the bum squeezing harness in front of my peers much less worth it.
10 years, 3 babies, and 1 adult swim team with too much back stroke later, my shoulder popped out worse than my bum in the harness and aggravated pregnancy consequence #567: carpel tunnel. It’s all quite fine, and the kids think I’m cool with this brace, but it makes it hard to buckle car seats and balance babies. With work going on in my house today, we needed out, and Rita had a fever, so public places were a no, and no one likes to play with sick kids that are probably contagious. “Lets go for a drive! I have one good hand!” I said to them all and they put on their crocs. To the car wash we went, and only one kid did cry, so I’ll count it successful at half a dollar per minute of mild crying inducing distraction.
“I’m hungry!” James said, which was echoed by Josie without the G or the R. I thought back to my kitchen with workers still present and its lacking refrigerator contents. I began to consider the drive thru for the first time in my mom- career, so as to avoid unbuckling and rebuckling. Jim’s done it twice and they were huge French fry fans, but the health nut inside me has never allowed a solo trip to the red head or arches. I braved the first window searching for the healthiest option. Chicken wraps with apple slices as a side filled with hormones and other things I tried to ignore. Their confusion prompted questions like “what is this place?” and a “give back our money!” and “put up the window, I’m hot!” command.
I passed them the wraps, hoping to sit and watch the passing chooooo chooooo!!! And with one, tiny, singular bite of salty, saucy chicken not cooked by mom or without extra hormones sparked spitting and crying because “this is disgusting!!!!” and so also became the car with all the remnants of chicken mixed with slobber spread all over its floor. I took back the wraps and in the garbage they went, and that’s when I realized, I spent $10.97 for spit out chicken and two bags of apple slices. The French fries I did not buy could provide no comfort.
With one more surprise left in each bag, I thought “maybe the toys will win back the morning and occupy them while I vacuum the chewed chicken in the car. Oh wait, only one whale was given, it will be okay, maybe they can share.” The problem, however, is that if there is anything that does not come naturally to children, or maybe just mine, its communism.
And I typed this whole thing with only one hand.