Tag Archives: McDonald’s

More of the same

1.  I love the list format but I can’t have two posts in a row with the same title.  I have standards.

2.  Every time I go through a McDonald’s drive-thru and they say, “Please pull forward and we’ll bring your order out to you,” because I’ve just ordered so much fast food that even the #1 fast food chain in the world momentarily grinds to a halt, it makes me feel sad.  That spot where you park up in front of the drive-thru is probably the most depressing spot in the world.  It’s where dreams go to die.  And you just know all the other people that get their food and leave are driving past with their noses in the air like “Oh I might wait five minutes for this shit, but I’m just too damn important to wait ten minutes like this miserable fucker here.”  Well guess what, other people, I’m trying to feed a family here.  So you go to hell, other people, you go straight to hell.

3.  After re-reading the previous paragraph, I think it should probably be read in an Andy Rooney voice.

4.  See, what’d I tell ya?  Right?

5.  Sometimes a quick glance at the baby’s legs as I walk in the door after work tells me all I need to know about the kind of day Kelly had:


The really scary part:  I don’t think this even made the top ten list of “things the kids and/or dog did to drive Kelly crazy today.”



Filed under Lists, Random

Logical Parenting

Last night, Big D smacked Smella.  They were playing in his bedroom when, according to Big D, SHE RIPPED HIS HAPPY MEAL BAG.  I don’t know why he was keeping an old McDonald’s bag in his room nor can I imagine why damaging this bag warranted physical retaliation.  Nevertheless, I sat him down in his room and we talked about it:

Me:  “So why’d you hit her?”

D:  “Because she had my bag and she ripped it.”

He displayed the evidence.  The bag had a two inch-long tear in it.

Me:  “Okaaaay, so why did you leave the bag out where she could get it if you didn’t want her playing with it?”  (Oh snap, you’ve got him now.)

D:  “I didn’t.  She grabbed it out of my hands!”

Me:  (Dammit, he’s good.  Okay, okay, regroup.)  “Well, if you wanted to fix the problem of her grabbing the bag, you should have just taken it back from her.”  (Logic.  Nice touch.)

D:  “Okay.”

Me:  “And if you wanted to fix the ripped bag, then you should have used tape.  Hitting people doesn’t fix problems.”  (Oh yeah, I’m on a roll now.)

D:  “Okay.”

Me:  “Go tell her you’re sorry.”  (Goddamn it, Gump! You’re a goddamn genius!)

D:  “Okay.  And Daddy?  You’re the greatest.”

Me:  “Thank you, son.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go pat myself on the back for a while.”

I swear this actually seemed to work.  I was shocked.  I’ve never really tried the whole “logic” thing, having always relied on a combination of bemusement, rage, and Throttling a la Homer Simpson.  But I somehow stumbled onto a concept that was previously foreign to me–logical parenting.  Somebody should write this shit down.

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