Mike finished tiling the laundry room at the new house tonight. It was a must before moving in. The old floor was absolutely disgusting. After a hard job well done, Mike suggested getting a milkshake on the way home. I couldn’t agree more! I love milkshakes—especially when it wasn’t my idea to get one.
It is a well known fact that if someone else suggests it, you don’t have to count the calories.
So off we went to the local Sonic.
Mike ordered a blended something or other, and I ordered a chocolate malt. Something simple. Something chocolate to soothe the effects of PMS.
And how could anyone mess up a chocolate malt?
I will tell you exactly how they messed up my chocolate malt. They didn’t blend it. All of the malt powder was sitting at the bottom of the cup. When I stuck my straw into the cup, it drilled down into the malt powder so every sip was as dry as sand. I was not at all happy. I told Mike we needed to get that carhop boy back out there to redo my malt, but he wouldn’t push the button to call for assistance. He said it was because he didn’t tip the carhop.
Are you supposed to tip the carhops at Sonic?
There isn’t an option to leave a tip when you pay with a credit or debit card. So if there isn’t an option, it must not be expected. Sonic is like McDonald’s. You don’t tip the guy at the McDonald’s drive thru. I told him that nobody tips the carhops.
He told me to stir my malt with my straw.
Stir it up? With my straw? Right, because that will work.
It was a lot like mixing the grout for tile. It did not stir with the straw. I had to wait until I got home to mix it up correctly and drink my malt, and by then I didn’t even want it anymore. You just shouldn’t have to work that hard for a milkshake.
Now I’m grumpy.
Things that normally don’t set me off are setting me off.
Like toilet paper. I really hate when the last roll of toilet paper in the house is the one the dog chewed on. It doesn’t unroll nicely after he’s been gnawing at the edges. I’m sure there are other rolls in one of the other bathrooms, but where I was, that was the only roll available. And thank goodness I didn’t toss it out, or I would have had none.
And I hate when someone wears my last pair of clean socks. Now I am forced to wear dirty socks because it’s too cold to go without. I know who you are and I’m coming after you!
I suppose I should have turned on the PMS early warning system. It might have helped the unsuspecting souls who crossed my path this evening.
Maybe then my chocolate malt would have been blended enough. After all…who would give a messed up malt to a woman with PMS?
Until the next time…Better just play it safe and stay out of my way!