At least when it comes to food.
A few nights ago the husband and I were watching a show where everyone starts eating fried chicken. The kind that comes in a bucket.
Without saying a word to each other, we both know that the other really wants fried chicken.
When the show is over the husband says, "Want to go to KFC?"
I say this even though I know it will not be good. I have an idea in my mind of what I want the fried chicken to taste like (good, so very very good) and what it will actually taste like (fat and grease and so very very gross).
Don't get me wrong, I love me some fried chicken. From Publix. From Hurricane Wings. From Buffalo Wild Wings. Not from KFC. But it was late and the husband wasn't wearing a hat and I hadn't shaved in a week so neither of us was getting out of the car.
It'd been years since we'd been to KFC so we weren't even sure if it was still in business but I guess even in a down economy people still need their fried poultry because as we turned the corner, the light of the
We pulled into the drive-thru:
KFC lady: Are you ready to order?
Me: No. I need a minute.
Unfortunately for this lady and the car behind us, a minute = for-f*cking-ever.
With the window down in full range of the speaker the husband and I had the following conversation.
Me: How does this work? What do you order from KFC?
The husband: Uh, fried chicken.
Me: Yeah, but what kind? What are you getting?
The husband: An eight piece.
Me: An eight piece! You can't eat all that.
The husband: I'll have some for tomorrow.
Me: Oh good, you can clog your arteries two days in a row.
The husband: I want the eight piece dark meat with two sides of macaroni. Original.
Me: Original. What does that mean?
The husband: It's how they cook it. You can get crispy or original.
Me: Ooh crispy sounds better. Why don't you get that?
The husband: Cuz I want original. It's better. Trust me.
Me: Well I don't know what to get. Can't I just have some of yours?
The husband: Yes.
Me: Great!... The eight piece is twenty-one dollars!
The husband: No it's not. It's fifteen.
Me: No. It's twenty-one!
The husband: No. It's fifteen.
Me: Where do you see that?
The husband: Right there. In the middle.
Allow me to introduce a visual. When I looked at the big menu sign, this is all I saw:
|We all agree that this says 8 piece $21.00, yes?|
Me: I don't see it.
The husband: In the middle!
My eyes then went to the right side of the sign, because duh.
Me: I don't see where it says fifteen dollars.
The husband: IT'S RIGHT THERE IN THE MIDDLE!
Me: Thanks for shouting. When you talk louder it helps me see better.
This same principle applies to conversations between people speaking two different languages. If I talk LOUDER and slooowwweerrr the person I am speaking to will suddenly be fluent in a language that thirty seconds ago she couldn’t understand.
But I digress.
I finally looked at the center of the menu and saw this:
Me: Oh. They really should make that more obvious.
The husband: *facepalm*
KFC lady: Are you ready to order yet?
I placed our order and pulled through to the window. When we get there the KFC lady tells us they don't have 8 pieces of original dark meat and would we like the rest to be crispy?
The husband: Well, how many pieces of the original do you have?
KFC lady: Hold on...
Me: Does it make a difference how many they have?
The husband: Yes, because...
And then he launches into a original vs. crispy fried chicken dissertation. I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure that's when the KFC lady started stabbing herself in the ears with a pencil.
Finally, it was time for us to get our food.
Now, there is something you should know about the driver-side window in my car. It takes about four hours to get it to roll down all the way. I started the roll-down process as soon as we left the house, but by the time I pulled up to the drive-through window it was only rolled down a little more than half-way. Which means when the KFC lady handed me our order she had to push and I had to pull and pull and pull to get the 87 lb four gallon bag of fried chicken into the car all while the husband is saying, "Just open the door!" But I am nothing if not determined and got that bitch through.
We left KFC and pulled out onto the road and stopped at the red light. It also takes four hours to get the window to roll back up. Which means everyone in the surrounding cars was privy to our conversation.
The husband: For $400 we could get that fixed.
Me: $400! That's a lot of money. This is an old car. It's not worth it.
The husband: Yeah. You're right.
Me: That window is going to be the reason I die in this car some day. I'm going to need to roll it down to escape and I'll be trapped.
The husband: WELL NOW WE HAVE TO GET IT FIXED!
The guy on the motorcycle in front of us turned around at the husband's shouting and inched forward.
Me: OH YEAH RIGHT LIKE WE'RE REALLY GOING TO GET IT FIXED!!
The husband: MORE YELLING BLAH BLAH BLAH
Me: LOUDER YELLING
The husband: EVEN LOUDER YELLING
The light turned green and we made a left turn. As soon as we got through the intersection the guy on the motorcycle pulled off the road and just stopped...kinda like he was trying to get away from us.
Me and the husband: HAHAHAHAHAHA. We scared him.
I'm pretty sure we scared a lot of people that night. But it was worth it to eat fried chicken and drip grease from our pores for six days. Okay, no it wasn't. It was disgusting just like I knew it would be.
But I think we all learned a valuable lesson: The husband and I should never be allowed out of the house unsupervised. Ever.*
*Tune in next week when I detail our adventure of scouring the K-Mart parking lot for pennies at 9:00 at night!