I remember when I was little, whenever I would accomplish something amazing (which was often, lol’ing all the livelong day), my Pappap would ask me where I wanted to have my celebration dinner and of course I’d pick somewhere nice where I could order myself a fucking lobster, you know? Because what grade school kid doesn’t do that?
But when my dumbo son gets straight As on his first report card of the year and we ask him where he wants to eat, he says Eat n Park.
Goddamn Eat n Park, you guys. That’s the place we go when Henry doesn’t feel like cooking because we can walk there and it requires little deliberation, and then one of us usually has a bad experience and complains about it for the rest of the night.
I mean, it’s OK. The salad bar is OK. The grilled cheese is fine. It’s all fine. Sigh.
I tried to talk him out of it because I wanted some type of curry in a bad way, so we started fighting about it in the car and Chooch yelled, “Oh I’m sorry, I forgot YOU’RE THE ONE WHO GOT STRAIGHT As! LET’S GO WHEREVER MOMMY WANTS TO GO, EVERYONE!” and I fucking hate that he’s so good at this.
“I’M HALF THE REASON YOU GOT STRAIGHT As!” I screamed back, while Henry openly wept behind the steering wheel. “I MADE YOUR FUCKING BRAIN!!!!”
But we went to stupid EAT N PARK god forbid, because Chooch controls everything, it’s the motherfucking CHOOCH SHOW.
Maybe I’ll eat curry in my dreams tonight.