Workin' At The Car Wash

Thanks to my wonderful Aunt Anonymous and her Burger King gift card, I am currently sitting in my local fine-dining establishment, watching Mr. C and his friend (Stripper Mom’s son) pretend to be monkeys while they climb around the play structure.  I think I’m becoming one of those parents Burger King must hate: bring two loud five-year-olds, buy less than $5, and spend two hours trashing their restaurant.


Burger King can’t fault me for being such a cheapskate, though: I have to budget strictly, because I just came from the automatic car wash.  They suckered me in there, because they had a huge sign out front advertising $4 off a $12 Premium Wash.  Since I am evil and won’t take my child to Disneyland, I figure I owe him the odd car-wash-ride here and there . . . even if it’s going to cost me $8 for 45 seconds of entertainment. 

(Since I had two kids in tow, shall we call it $4 per child to further rationalize it?  In fact, let’s say $3 per person, as I enjoyed it, too.)  (And now I don’t have to wash the car.) 

(So, $2 each, as the car, also, seems really happy right now.)

Well, I’ve got nothing else to say this week, and I hate to keep blogging just for blogging’s sake.  (I’ve been trying to rack my brain for something Deep to write about . . . but then I figured: why start now?) 

It truly is a shame that I can’t think of anything else, though, since the boys would like to stay longer.  Then, again, maybe getting them out early is just a small way I can apologize to The King for dumping our fries all over their floor.

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