Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Never, ever

Order for me. Ever. No way. Unless I am two seconds from wetting my pants and I yell over my shoulder as I run to the bathroom, "Hey, get me a sweet tea, k?" You may feel free to open doors for me and pop the tabs on my Dr. Pepper cans so I don't chip my Lincoln Park After Dark, but that'll do it. Ordering for me makes me feel like the third wife in some twisted Mormon polygamy hexagon. No thank you.

4 comments:

Leah said...

But I thought the workers at Chick-fil-A start to get your order ready when they see you coming?

stephinbham said...

Touche. Ha ha. But that's different! It's not a creepy dude placing an order for me at an actual restaurant.

The Bakers said...

I agree totally--I think speaking for me is the opposite of respectful. And it's made even creepier when the guy says, "The lady will have..." Blech!

the baileys said...

You crack me up!! I love it!