As promised, I will attempt to explain the Twilight Zone-esque experience that is dining out with our beloved Chuckweasel. Don’t get me wrong, he is a delightful dinner companion, it’s just… he fears change.
At the breakfast place we go to, he always gets the same thing — the ham omelet. At most any lunch, he will order a club sandwich. If there is no club sandwich, he will get chicken tenders. If they don’t have either of those, it had better be an Italian place or he’ll go into vapor lock.
Now, he claims he just knows what he likes, and orders accordingly. I contend it’s because he is set in his ways and is just seconds from wearing his pants really high and yelling at kids to get off the lawn. After all, when I made him try sushi, he let it fall out of his mouth like a dog with a grape.
Sorry this is so short, but it’s the end of the quarter and that means the FCC is on my ass… be back as soon as I can!