My Secret Fast Food Life
My son and I like McDonald's. My husband eats it once a year.
I love McDonald's. My husband, not so much.
So when my husband is out of town my son and I can often be found in the drive-thru of the McDonald's on Olive Blvd. I try to be good, getting him apples and milk with his nugget happy meal.
Recently, when we picked daddy up at the airport, my son did the unthinkable. He spilled the beans on our little excursions. "Chicken McNuggets" he kept saying loudly from the back seat. My husband was trying to decipher what our two-year-old was saying. I was trying to prompt our toddler away from the Golden Arch's conversation. But finally my husband got it.
"Is he saying Chicken McNuggets," he asked. Sheepishly I admitted we'd been there once, maybe twice. I left out the "maybe more" part.
I had actually promised our son we'd stop at McDonald's on the way home from the airport. When we pulled into McDonald's, he immediately started clapping. "Yeah! Yeah!" he cheered from the back seat.
"How often do you come here," my husband asked. "Oh, on the rare occasion," I said.
Well, that was blown to smithereens when we got to the drive-thru window.
"Hi, Hi, Hi," our son was happily screaming to the cashier. I was waiting for him to call her by name.
It gets worse.
When I handed my son his happy meal he said, "and the milk," Oh no! My son knows the fast food routine and is dropping dime on us. We're busted. My husband snorted and suggested we try a healthier option once in a while.