So I’ve got a sick Diva, right?
Doc says she has a viral infection that’s causing blisters to form in her throat. Poor baby.
Doc also says that she should be on a cool and creamy diet. What, I say to myself, is more cool and creamy than a milkshake? As we leave the doctor’s office, I turn to Sick Diva and say, “Do you want Mommy to take you to get a milkshake?”
In her fever-weakened voice, she agrees with me.
We arrive at the McDonald’s drive-through in time to hear the voice in the speaker tell the people in the car in front of us that they are “out of sodas right now”.
That’s odd, I say to myself. What’s McDonald’s, if not for a good, burn-in-your-chest Diet Coke, though, as I’ve stated I’ve been off that sauce for awhile.
When it’s our turn, I pull up to the microphone and place my order. “I’ll have one, small, chocolate shake, please,”I say.
The response from the voice in the speaker? “Would you like that in a small, medium, or large?”
Sick Diva perks up because she knows it’s about to get good.
I repeat my order, exactly as I said it before. “I’ll have one, small, chocolate shake, please.”
The voice in the speaker puts my order in, it shows up on the screen, she tells me it will be “$2.38, please” and encourages me to pull forward to the first window.
Now, Big Daddy calls. I tell him what’s going on, and he’s cracking up. As we drive from the speaker to the window, he says, “This is going on the blog, isn’t it?”
I didn’t bother to answer. It was a rhetorical question, and we both knew it. Even Sick Diva, with a hundred-degree fever knew the answer.
When we arrive at the window, I have my money ready. $2.38 in exact change.
I hand it to the lady who could only be the voice in the speaker (I can tell by the headset…I, too, am an intellectual). She leans out of the window, looks at my money, looks at me blankly, and then she says it.
“Mam, we’re out of shakes right now.”
Big Daddy is speechless. Sick Diva lays her head on the back of the seat. I look at the voice in the speaker. Smile. Then drive off.
Which did have shakes. In small. And chocolate. And it was cheaper.
My Adventure is better than anything I could make up.
It’s okay, I tell myself, trying not to judge her. She’s probably a better mother than me anyway. They probably have toilet paper at their house.