Friday morning
In which M & Y spend most of the morning on Friday trying to decide where to eat lunch. You know, like most days.
And where, when M asks Y -- for the eleventyumpth time -- what she's got a "taste" for, Y throws out -- not even thinking -- You know what? I could just murder a chalupa . . .
Well. I think we all know where this is going, don't we?
So round comes lunch time but Y is busy doing something stupid like, you know working, and they don't get to leave the building until 45 minutes later. By that time M is just Too. Through.
No, they canNOT just go downstairs and grab a priority lunch pizza. Because SOMEbody not mentioning any names here -- Y -- said SOMEthing about Taco Hell and now M has got to have it. Nothing else will do. Nevermind that she -- M -- has not set foot inside a Taco Hell in at least the last six years. Y mentioned it and now she's got to have it.
So off they go, our intrepid adventurers. And it's Friday, did I mention? And traffic is Hell and parking is Scarce but lucky for them, M has a handicapped hang tag because, you know -- SHE'S TOO FAT TO MOVE -- so eventually they find a spot and they go to Hell. They go directly to Hell.
There are, of course, lines in Hell. Who knew?
Whatever.
So they wait and they wait and finally they get to the counter and M orders first because she's bigger and crankier -- although, by this time Y is pretty goddamn cranky herself and since she's been gaining weight for months and months now, she's pretty goddamn big, too -- BUT NOT TOO BIG TO MOVE YET so M had better just watch her wobbly ass.