Yesterday at 8am I found myself driving to the closest drug store. Giggling.
Peppermeister had a bout of…well, he had an upset stomach, and it was all my fault.
The previous night, I’d convinced us both that getting food from Sonic, a fast-food chain where you park and order old-school style, was a really good idea. Never mind that we’d recently eaten at a post-baptism party*, and that normally trans fat is about as appealing to me as watching 30-year-old men play video games in their parents’ basement.
On Saturday, Sonic cheese tots seemed absolutely necessary. It might have been the after effects of the heroin cough suppressants talking. (If you’re doubting my commitment to the guilty pleasure-ful life, know that I indulge in bacon and butter in a way that would make the Two Fat Ladies proud. It’s all-natural fat… Okay. *sigh* Sometimes White Castle just RULES.)
We perused the unfamiliar menu on our lap tops. Peppermeister fixated on the Sonic Blast shake, which was vanilla ice cream mixed with candy bar bits. He wanted Snickers.
When he returned home with the “food,” I couldn’t see him behind the cup in his hand. Picture the Duggar family lined up side by side, and all their cousins stacked on top.
“It’s got to be a whole gallon of ice cream,” I marveled in the way people marvel at puppeteers and Charlie Sheen.
“I know!” Peppermeister replied gleefully as he dug in. Between his only two options, medium and large, he was confident he’d made the right shake-size decision.
My own super-sized cheese tots were less than satisfying, despite the promising heat-saving foil sleeve they came wrapped in. Melted American cheese slices covered the tots, as opposed to the globs of glow-in-the-dark Cheez product I was looking forward to.
We passed out watching the only unseen episode of Modern Family we had left (you chipmunks were right. That show is the shiz!).
I woke up several times during the night to down large glasses of water. The amount of salt in my meal rivaled the Dead Sea. My lips are still wrinkled.
Peppermeister faced a far worse fate. I witnessed a true guilty pleasure overdose.
“C’mon, Uncle Jesse!” I called to the dog in the morning, loudly enough for Peppermeister to hear. “We’ve got to go get daddy some more ice cream!”
Giggling during the ride to Rite Aid, I immediately realized I was a terrible wife. But I couldn’t stop picturing that giant cup and his utter delight as he devoured the shake, and maybe you just never get too old for potty humor.
If you’re expecting that I learned some kind of lesson as a result of this ‘terrible wife’ revelation, you should probably know that while Peppermeister moaned beneath the heating pad, I suppressed laughter and wrote this post.
Have you ever laughed when you shouldn’t have?
*filed under: Things I’m Not Allowed to Blog About.
Photo Credit (Duggar Family) – tlc.com
Go Jules Go 