Just shoot me

We're going to walk and talk here, people.

It's just that M is watching The Newsroom and I feel compelled to write a lot of words in a rapid fire pace and to seek out my finest ten dollar vocabulary and forge a Sorkin-esque monologue.

But, we're not going to do that because it's exhausting.

Instead, I'm going to tell you about this thing that my older kid, E did this weekend.  This isn't a fancy story to be told with big words.  This is not that kind of story at all.  This is a tale.  A tale that is told because at some level, it's too hard to believe.  And because it's the kind of tale that moves from one parent to another and becomes more of a legend than a story.  Because it has a ring of truth to it that only a parent can hear.  The kind of ending that every parent hears and thinks, of course, OF COURSE that is the only way that tale could end.

So, Saturday, M went out to Beerfest with his friends.  I told the boys I would take them out to dinner--just a special date night.  S refused to get burgers and fries.  E refused to eat at a locally owned (and very tasty, my personal fave) chicken nuggets place because he HAAAAAAATES chicken so much. 

Chicken makes him ill.
Chicken makes his mouth dry.
Chicken makes him waaaant to diiiiie.

You may notice that E has a certain taste for melodrama.

We can address that joyful part of my life at a later date.

For now, we are just going to focus on how my older son absolutely lost his shit because we threatened him with a very tasty, very authentic Southern style, locally owned company's very delicious food.

I mean LOST.  As in, he's yelling at his brother because his brother ALWAYS gets what he wants.  He's yelling at me because he NEVER gets what he wants.  He's yelling because chicken is disgusting. DISGUSTING.

That's it.  I quit.  This is the kind of appreciation I get for offering to take my boys out to dinner?  The ingratitude.  The petty fighting.  The arguing.  The bickering.  The inability to compromise.  The total refusal to contribute to the overall happiness of the family.

I fought this stalemate as long as I could because I really wanted to eat out. Going out to dinner is sanctioned diet breaking.  The dinner gods decreed that I didn't need to make dinner and, therefore, whatever alternative to a home cooked meal I am forced to eat has zero calories.

Right?  I thought so.  This is like universally known stuff.

In the end, however, they couldn't come to an agreement.

In frustration, I pulled into Wendy's.

Not locally owned deliciousness.

Not the place I wanted to go.

Not worth the calories.

Bummer.

S is disappointed, but I hear in his voice that he's starting to perk up when he orders a frosty.  A frosty makes up for a great many wrongs. 

E orders a frosty, too.

To go with his six piece chicken nugget order.