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…
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