Marty Diet

For lunch yesterday I ran through a Wendy's drive through. Okay, all right, I did not run. They frown on that. I drove my new old van. But you get the point.

As I typically do, I ordered far too much food. It was the Baconator meal, large size. Now here comes a joke for you to make, a fat pitch I'm quite confident you can drill over the fence. The one in the deepest regions of the ballpark in fact. I can even see the eye rolls which will accompany what you're about to read. It's okay. Swing at the fat pitch and roll those eyes. I would. I know Ron would.

Baconators have all that stuff which is no good for you. Most doctors say don't eat it; I'm certain mine would. Two quarter pound pieces of red meat on a huge buttered bun with gloriously melted cheese, a large fries along with it, topped with gallons of ketchup and mayo. And bacon, of course. Salty, crispy, yummy bacon. 

My drink? A Diet Coke.

It was too much food. I don't know the calorie count and I don't care. Too much. But I order Diet Coke with such blatantly bad food because I like the taste. Honest. And, full disclosure, I suppose it does help ameliorate the calories. Somewhat. But I genuinely like the taste.

Did you just roll your eyes at me?

Mom's Revenge

As I left my house yesterday, my wife gave me some sweet rolls to take down the block to me Mom's. On arrival Mom took one to have with her coffee. "Like them?" I asked.

"Oh, yes."

"Cool. I baked them," I joked. And do you what me Mom did then?

She rolled her eyes at me! Just like a teenager would.

I was actually if humorously taken aback. "Don't you roll your eyes at me young lady!" I admonished her playfully as a grin spread across my face.

"Like you never rolled yours at me when you was a young 'un," she replied dismissively.

Wow, Mom. Touche. Mic. Dropped.