the long awaited chicken wing story

First of all, that bitch Rabbitch gave me her cold. All the way from British Columbia. Yup. She's just jealous because she conceded victory to me. And my dishcloths are prettier than hers. And my great-grandfather used to have sex with sheep. (Well, maybe she's not jealous about that last thing.)

The problem is that every single cold I get turns into bronchitis, which means mine will be bronchitis, oh, about...Monday. On my first day of work.

And you never get that second chance to make that first impression, do you?

So this morning my front yard is being literally overrun by robins. There are far more than can been seen in this highly blurry picture, although I have taken the liberty of circling the robins for you.Also this morning, my contractor has not yet shown up. So he just called me. The conversation went something like this:

"I'm down here at the mall, our store was broken into last night."

(I have no idea what mall, where, or what store he's talking about. I just met him yesterday, and he barely spoke to me, my only impression was that he's a Good Old Boy, typical Southern Redneck type, therefore I'm the Little Woman and won't know anything about the Manly Work he's doing about the house, he kept calling me "Ma'am" which is a Southern trait I will never get used to, being that I'm a Damn Yankee, since it's an insult in the North, he looked exactly like Santa Claus and he did a great job fixing the French doors.)

"I'd be happy to come out there tomorrow at your discretion."

I told him that would be fine, and asked if the thieves took a lot of stuff.

"Well, now they didn't take a lot, per se, since it's all stripper clothing, but it's worth a lot."

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, since I've known enough strippers and have bought enough stripper clothes to know that he is right, but I figured that now wasn't the time nor place to tell him this; I mean, he was carrying on this conversation as if I was supposed to have known which stripper-clothing store he owned. Since I didn't, I couldn't just come out and ask him, right? Am I supposed to casually have my stripper friends hanging around the next time he comes over to see if they magically recognize him from "the store"? What if "the store" is one of "the stores" attached to one of the various clubs around town? Wouldn't my friends go in there dressed in full gear? Because when they're at my house they're dressed down, I promise you. It's not like they're hanging around in their dance clothes, full makeup, seven-inch platform light-up shoes, tear-off thongs, while the rest of us are lying around in jeans or sweatpants (or in my case, pajamas) and t-shirts.

Meanwhile The Man Who Lives in the House is sending me pages asking how the construction is going and when I respond with, "It's not," is not willing to call me from work to find out why not.

Feh.

So. The Man decided last week he wanted chicken wings for dinner. Keep in mind that in the six years we have been together, I have NEVER ONCE seen him eat a chicken wing. No, he wanted wings and he wanted them now. He kept saying, "You know, like when we were in college and we got those buckets of wings delivered." I then had to keep reminding him that he and I were never in college together, that we went to college in two completely different cities and states (he in a sizable seaside college and naval town on the Virginia coast and I in a small college town in upstate New York) and that where I went to college there were no places that delivered buckets of wings and when I went to graduate school I was too poor to get such things so I had no idea what he was talking about, but I thought that both Papa John's and Pizza Hut delivered chicken wings and could we just order from them?

Apparently not.

We had to get in the car and drive around and find a place that served wings, but we weren't going to eat there, we were going to bring the wings home. Oh, and both of us had to go.

So I suggested we go to Three Dollar Cafe in Dunwoody / Sandy Springs. It's about 2 miles from our house and they have good wings. Alternately, I suggested Taco Mac, which we would pass on the way to Three Dollar Cafe. Both are Atlanta franchises and are known for their chicken wings. In fact, we had eaten at a Taco Mac just a month ago, in another part of Roswell.

No, we couldn't go to Taco Mac. Yes, the burger there was great, but we couldn't get wings there out of protest over the fact that their name was Taco Mac and they didn't have enough Mexican food on the menu. Three Dollar was fine but instead of going there we turned in the other direction and tried to go to Buffalo's in Roswell / Norcross, about 4 miles from our house. Keep in mind, that to get there we had to pass another Taco Mac.

We drove to the Buffalo's which was closed. They clearly had moved locations. I suggested going back to Taco Mac, or named five other places nearby which we could try (sports bars, all of which surely had wings). No, he thought there was a Three Dollar Cafe six miles further AWAY from our house. I told him I thought that was a Jock's and Jill's (another Atlanta sports bar franchise). No, he was sure it was a Three Dollar. Ok, honey, sure.

We get there...it's a Jock's and Jill's. I suggest we go there for wings, since they have good wings.

Nope. He turns the car around.

We pass any number of restaurants which would serve wings (including Pizza Hut, KFC, and Papa John's), but none of them are named, as he wants them to be, "Wing King."

We pass Taco Mac.

We pass the second Taco Mac, near the Three Dollar Cafe. He starts to pull in. I tell him in no uncertain terms that no fucking way is he pulling into this Taco Mac when we're so close to the Three Dollar Cafe now.

We finally get to the Three Dollar Cafe, two miles from our house.

They have a big sign up.

"Free delivery within five miles!"