One of my least favorite parts of the day is when I find my stomach growling at midnight, dreaming of a #2 Combo with no onions or tomato. A late night drive into town, three-car wait at the drive-thru, and ride back home, knowing the contents of that paper bag will cancel out any exercise I did today. Oh, the guilt.
But them fries is tasty.
No more late night drives into town.
Last week I opened a Wendy’s franchise in my spare bedroom.
Complete with drive-thru window and dine-in restaurant.
Just last night around 1 a.m. I found myself hungry. I was weighing the option of driving into town when a Wendy’s commercial came on television, encouraging me to “do what tastes right.”
I did.
I pulled the covers back and hopped on my Jazzy power chair (model 1650, for people over 300 pounds… the extra room allows me to carry the cats along) and sped through the kitchen and living room, right up to the drive-thru window.
“I’ll have a #2 Combo, no onions or tomato, Biggie sized, with a Coke to drink.”
Why are they still rude to me?
Unfortunately, when I parked the Jazzy and got back to bed, I found a giant tomato on my classic double with cheese sandwich.
My first thought was to send Briskette to take it back. Then I remembered what happened the last time she borrowed the Jazzy.
I found her in the driveway, charging neighborhood raccoons for rides.
So I ate the burger, tomato and all. I couldn’t go to sleep until after 2 a.m., when they turned of the neon “Open ‘Til Late” sign.
It’s working out well, despite my neighbors’ threat of reporting something called a “zoning violation.” And then there’s the astronomical increase in my electricity bill.
Plus, all my clothes smell like grease.
Actually, all my clothes now stay pretty greasy.
But it’s all about convenience.
Now Briskette seems to think we can open a PetSmart store on the back deck. That’s crazy.
So crazy it just… might… work.
© August 22, 2006
