I called over to the barbecue restaurant we always pick food up from on Friday nights.  It is a high-end barbecue restaurant, has the best fried chicken ever.  They serve it with a honey-mustard dipping sauce which is scrumptious.  The boys get the hamburgers, or the Alaskan salmon and my husband gets the ribs.  I can’t stand ribs, because they are basically intercostal muscles which just entirely grosses me out.  But my husband loves the things.

Anyway, I call the restaurant and talk to the take-out guy.  I give him my husband’s order and the boys’ order.  I then give him my order for the fried chicken and this is how the conversation goes down:

Me:  Can I please have an order of the fried chicken?

Take-out guy:  Of course!

Me:  Can you make sure they don’t give me two wings this time, because last time they gave me two wings…