We were on a short family get-away this weekend (11/11/11 meant wedding bells for some friends of ours). At our first stop to pick up some greasy-spoon trucker fare, I took the children’s order, walked three steps and gave their orders to the waitress, and ten minutes later as we sailed down the road and I handed out their goodies, we discovered I had made the wrong order. They asked for one cheeseburger, one grilled cheese, one order of chicken strips. I asked the cook to whip them up two cheeseburgers and a grilled cheese.
NO, I don’t know why!
After thanking Shooter for being so easy-going and offering to eat the “wrong” order so his sister, now chicken-stripless, could eat his sandwich, I apologized profusely to the children. They all assured me that it was no big deal and they were really not surprised that I’d managed to mix up their cuisine in less than ten seconds.
Farmer Boy looked at his dad as explained, kindly, “That’s just how Mom is, Dad.”