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fast food, flowers, and rabbits

June 12, 2011

  One of my simple pleasures these days is frozen strawberry lemonade from McDonalds. I love them. I wish I had one right now. But there’s one thing that really irks me. When you go through the drive-through at the local McDonalds, they say, “Would you like to try a (insert latest product)? (no time to answer) May I take your order?” When they started doing this some time ago, I would actually answer the first question because that seems like the polite thing to do, right? But then I got wise to their ways and just ignored them and went straight into my order. But I never actually wanted what they were trying to promote. Now their latest and greatest item is their strawberry lemonade. And that’s exactly what I want. So it’s a little awkward now when I try to answer their first question and just end up interrupting their second question. Then we’re all confused. Or I just wait until the end of their speech and say, “No thanks. I’ll just have a strawberry lemonade.”  I wish they would quit it.

 And while we’re on the topic of fast food, I’m a big fan of Sheetz. Mostly because they give you a very edible 6 inch sub for a mere pittance. So I was in there one time this week and punched in my selection, went to the cashier and paid my 2 dollars and 11 cents, and waited. “559!” the lady hollered. That’s my number. I retrieve my bag, peek inside, and what do I see but 12 beautiful inches of submarine sandwhich goodness. I opened my mouth to inform the “chef” of the mistake, but she was already gone. I would have had to yell across the room. I stood there several moments contemplating the most integrous (it is a word if you look in the right dictionary. I like it.) move. What should I do with the extra 6 inches of sub that I didn’t pay for? If I informed them of the error, they would either tell me to keep it or just throw it in the trash. It’s not like they could sell it to someone else. After all, these things are made to order, and I have special preferences. It’s not likely that someone else would choose my exact, tasty combination (pesto and honey mustard, anyone?). And the lady does not look like she’s in the mood to be told of a mistake. Seeing no better option, I turned and walked to my car toting my footlong. I don’t feel guilty. Maybe that’s why I felt the need to confess to world wide web.

  My flower beds are not doing well. I faithfully plant and water, but things just aren’t growing. Except the weeds. They’re growing just fine. I planted a couple things that I was really looking forward to. I don’t remember what they are called. Well, the rabbits didn’t think it was good enough to eat all my kohlrabi (the chicken wire has been very affective), so they lopped off the tops of these flower plants as well. There’s also some very nice, mature perennials that were planted before we moved in. I was delighted with the flowering beauties that I didn’t have to baby into bloom. Well, now they’re almost all squashed flat right in the middle. Apparently, rabbits like to lay in the things they don’t like to eat. So you would think I would be thrilled when I discovered in my flower bed, a nest of at least three baby bunnies. I could swiftly and painlessly end three future problems. But that just wasn’t happening. Baby bunnies are as cute as they come. And it’s not their fault that their mom and pop (aunts, uncles, cousins) destroy my flowers. So the bunnies lived. The next morning, however, they were gone. Perhaps a hawk or something took care of the problem for us. Now about the rest of the rabbit family…


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