We always stop by McDonald's on our way to the casino. Last Tuesday was no exception. We always order the same thing. The Pony has a sausage biscuit meal, with an extra sausage biscuit. Farmer H and I have the 2-for-$4 breakfast sandwich. We get the Sausage, Egg, and Cheese McMuffin. That's what Farmer H chooses. It doesn't matter much to me. The English muffin is tough, but the biscuit is dry, like cotton. So I will eat either one as my share of the 2-fer.
Farmer H eats his breakfast sandwich right away. As soon as we get on the interstate highway. He reaches out his hand, which is my signal to reach my hand back to The Pony's A-Cad-ian lair, so he can lay the McMuffin on it. I unwrap it, re-wrap it with half sticking out for biting, and pass it to Farmer H. Yes. It IS quite scary doing this at 75 mph, while sweaving, with Farmer H only steering with his weak nerve-shot arm.
I wait until about 20 miles from the casino to have my breakfast. No reason. It just breaks up the boredom best at that time. Of course my McMuffin has cooled off by then, but I rarely get a hot meal anyway, unless we're sitting down to one in the casino. We usually don't have lunch until 1:30 or 2:00. So this breakfast tides us over and gives us strength to sit on our rumpuses and push buttons and feed money into the slots.
Unlike Farmer H and The Pony, I don't finish my breakfast in a mile or two. It might take me 15 miles of eating. I take a bite. Talk. Fiddle with the radio. Recoil in fear at Farmer H's lane-changes. Plan what we'll have for lunch. Decide which slots to play first. Designate the lunch time and departure time. Clue in my companions on any special promotions that might require a visit to the players' desk. Fill them in on any jackpots that have been posted on the casino Facebook page. Eventually I finish my McMuffin.
I was almost done this time when I felt something crunch in my mouth. At my advanced age, and my teeth in their advanced state of dentist-avoidance... I'm always afraid I've chipped a tooth or lost a filling. Chewing that crunchy thing was not pleasant. I spit it out on my finger to see what I was masticating.
No. That's not tooth enamel. That's AN EGGSHELL! It was on my next-to-last bite, too. Who knows how much of the shell I'd already eaten. It was not very appetizing, but I of course choked down the last bite. Extra calcium for me! No. I didn't eat the fragment shown on my finger. There IS a limit to the depths I will lower myself.
We did NOT turn that car around and drive back to McDonald's and demand a refund or coupon or apology. Well. Farmer H didn't offer to do that. Not that I suggested.
Alternate titles that would have initially revealed too much:
Talking On Eggshells
With Two You Get Eggshell
Have You Tried McDonald's New Sausage, Eggshell, and Cheese McMuffin?
4 comments:
Ha Ha, "With Two you get Eggshell. I love the movie and book of the similar name. Stars Doris Day in one of her many, many, happy family movies.
I have my own crumby thing going on right now. I'm eating cheese flavoured crackers (ssssh, they're not on the allowed list) and the crumbs with each bite are dropping all over my t-shirt front..
River,
I love those old Doris Day movies. That one where her husband (James Garner) is delivering a baby to a lady who looks about 60 years old! And Doris gets a commercial to sell soap suds. I think it's "The Thrill of It All." My mom used to love that one.
I had a friend who would say of such crumbs, "I'm saving those for later."
My favorite was "With Two You Get Eggshell."
When women (or unfortunately-proportioned men) have outstanding chestal areas, they have a natural crumb catcher. A snack--or a meal--for later.
I have occasionally bitten down on something, a miniscule bit of something, and wondered what it was. But too late! It got mixed up with the rest of the stuff in my mouth and then! Down the hatches.
Eggshells are pretty easy to identify, unfortunately.
Sioux,
I guess that speaks to the sad state of my tooth enamel, that I confused it with eggshell...
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