Prescription for Disaster

Tuesday, 3 April 2012

The Man Flu. It got me.

Alright, I'm feeling bad about giving Paul such a hard time about his Man Flu the other day - it's now hit me like a tonne of bricks.

Poor, deathly ill Paul and the kids picked me up from work and given that we were all so freaking sick (and traffic was a nightmare) we opted to go out to eat rather than attempt to cook and then, god forbid, clean, at home. So our eating out as a family routine  started in typical fashion with a debate about what to eat, going something like this.

The American Diner? Nope. Wrong way down the A40. Have you seen this traffic?
Chinese? No way, we're never paying for Chinese food as long as Xiaona lives with us. Her's is better. Chinese food has been ruined for us forever.
Indian? God no, are you insane? Lochie had 4 consecutive diaper changes in a 10 minute period after the last time. We're too low on wipes for Indian food.
Greek? Too slow to come out. Kids are starving. Plus, hummus is a bitch to get out of their hair.
French? Too posh.
Italian? Still too posh.
Polish? They hate kids and don't have high chairs.
Baskin Robbins? (he just gave me the side eye)

We figure that a Denny's would do wonderfully over here.

See, part of our problem is that we struggle to eat out with the twins. We feel as though taking the twins to nice restaurants is rude to other patrons - whereas in somewhere like a pizza hut I couldn't care less because hey, they chose to go to pizza hut. If an establishment has less than 4 highchairs we figure that it's out of obligation rather than actual acceptance of screaming, food tossing mini patrons that crap themselves at the tables. If an establishment has an army of highchairs right at the door and some sort of balloon feature we figure that we're good to eat there, guilt free. And we'll leave an ungodly mess as well.

But alas, there wasn't a pizza hut to be found and we ended up at a local pub on the lake. Very nice, and we managed to scoop 2 of their 3 high chairs. Our kids were covered in flu-snot, my husband was dripping sweat from his fever and I was coughing up a lung - along with Kaitie's death rattle cough/gasp - so we were quarantined to the back of the pub. We had a nice view -

of the ice cream machine

and it scared the freaking bejeebers out of all of us every time it came on.

At least it covered up the coughing, groaning, moaning, sneezing and hacking coming from our table. We hope.

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