Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not like to go places. Unless it's a casino, forget it. She's a homebody. Part of the problem in being a homebody is that you don't get out much. Which means you don't exercise much. With my knees rebelling against my driveway walks, I've been making wiser choices in the culinary department.
I suppose Farmer H equated our visit to the funeral home to pay our respects to XMM (Ex-Mayor's Mom) with a night on the town. We were there about two hours, the last one of which Farmer H was asking if I was ready to leave, and where I wanted to go eat. I didn't really want to go anywhere to eat. Especially on a Saturday night, which is prime out-eating time.
Farmer H loves his tummy. He treats it like a favored child. Nothing is too good for his gut. He had been pushing a new Chinese Buffet all afternoon. I countered with a carry out from our local Hillmomba Chinese restaurant, where I could have a small order of Hot & Sour Soup, with perhaps some crab rangoons. I know they're not wise choices, but together with the soup, it's a much wiser choice than a Chinese Buffet over in Bill-Paying Town.
Farmer H countered my counter with Colton's Steak House. I could have found something reasonable there, but not ON A SATURDAY NIGHT! They're always packed. Farmer H turned to talk to my cousin, the brother of my former florist Cuz.
"She don't wanna go anywhere! Not even out to eat tonight. I want to try that new Chinese Buffet. I went there a couple weeks ago with The Veteran, and we liked it fine."
Huh. So if he's already been there, he's not TRYING it. He just wants to go. Farmer H and his tummy never met a buffet they didn't like. Cuz2 was not helping, by suggesting every restaurant within a 50-mile radius. You would think he never ate a home-cooked meal in his life.
When we left, Hick started on the Chinese Buffet in the car.
"I don't want a buffet. I've been trying to make wiser choices. I've lost 31 pounds since we visited The Pony two times ago. September, I think. I've worked really hard. I don't want a buffet!"
"You can just fill one plate. Just put on what you think is good for you."
"No, I can't! Not at a buffet. I'll be darned if I'll pay $15 to eat one plate, and watch you fill three!"
"We'll see if it's busy."
Of course it wasn't busy! So Farmer H pulled in, and we had the Chinese Buffet. I was not that impressed. It's nothing I would put on my list to visit again. Farmer H, you know, just likes a buffet. Even HE said, "I don't think they're as friendly here as regular waitresses." Which I noticed, as our gal made no attempt at conversation, yanked a used plate off the table, offered no refills, and wiped nearby tables angrily.
By the time we left, I had kind of taken on her attitude. Why had Farmer H forced me to eat here? I mean, seriously! He practically tied me up like a calf-roper's dogie, tossed me in the back of T-Hoe, took me there against my will, shoveled food into my mouth while pinching my nostrils closed, and then massaged my throat to make me swallow!
The food wasn't even that good! It's hard to have bad Chinese food. But everything there was rolled in flour or coated with tempura batter. They didn't even have Rat-On-a-Stick, which is what Arch Nemesis, my sciency coworker, used to call the pork or chicken or whatever it was on a stick. Though I'm pretty sure it wasn't rat. At least it's lean protein, without much sauce. The Black Pepper Chicken had too much flour. The honey chicken and General Tso's was mostly batter. There was no Cashew Chicken, but in it's bin was Peanut Butter Chicken. It was tasty, but, well, the peanut butter sauce, you know, that coated the top. Oh, and in the Peanut Butter Chicken place was CRAB LEGS. And not good-looking ones, either. Not that I've ever eaten a crab leg. But these were fried. And small. Maybe they were actually frog legs!
Still, I had two plates! I DID pass up the little squares of double-layer chocolate cake, and yellow cake with strawberry icing, and the big round cookies that I think must have been almond flavor, and instead had some orange and red Jello for my dessert. I only took one bite of a little triangular bread thing that looked like a yeast roll. Okay. TWO bites. It took that long to determine that it was mostly flavorless. I took some broccoli salad with raisins and a sprinkle of cheese and a light mayonnaise base. Not that good. Left half of it on my plate. I had Farmer H bring me a little cup of frozen strawberry ice cream, but it was so tasteless that I gave him the last half of it.
I really wish I hadn't eaten that buffet! That I'd sat in the car and waited for Farmer H, like I'd threatened. Now it's back to having a can of sardines in mustard sauce for lunch, and a salad with some frozen chicken for supper.
Sunday afternoon, I told Farmer H, "Darn you! Now my pants don't fit! I've gained a pound overnight! You and that stupid buffet! I TOLD you I didn't want a buffet!"
"HM. You didn't gain a pound off that one meal. You'll poop it out. Your pants can't be tighter in one day. You're fine."
I guess I'll be making extra, extra wise choices for a few days. While Farmer H enjoys his three bags of sugar-free candy and bag of BBQ Pork Rinds that he bought himself at The Devil's Playground.