I'll Have the 'Heart Attack' to Go, Please.

*** continued from previous post ***

I swear, we sprinted to the long table of food faster than a pack of feral German Sheppards chasing a pair of late-spring Mormons.

Mom dove for the waffle maker, but not before saying with that same evil grin, "but what if we DO want waffles?"

Your Mother can be quite funny. This wasn't one of those times.

As for myself, I was in meat Nirvana. There were chafing dishes overflowing with ham, maple smoked ham, thick-sliced bacon, thin-sliced bacon, pepper bacon, sausage patties, sausage links, venison sausage, drifter sausage (WTF? Well that would explain the lack of hobos and transients in this neck of the woods.), scrapple (sausage mixed with cornmeal then fried - I KNOW! It made my knees go weak.), polish sausage, and finally turkey bacon.

Considering the meaty spread, I thought the turkey bacon an interloper and refused to give it any real estate on my plate. In the end it didn't matter. I promised myself that I wasn't going to go overboard, but wound up with a plateful of meat that would have gagged an emaciated hyena.

Mom had long since returned to our booth. With a cane in one hand, and the contents of a well stocked butcher shop carefully balanced in the other, I weaved my way through the stares and slack-jaws and took my place across from your Mother.

"So," she said, looking over my plate, "should I get the defibrillator, or do you think you'll be able to navigate to the hospital on your own?"

"Funny woman. Such a funny, funny woman." I looked at her plate. I suppose that there might be a waffle under there but it was hard to imagine through the strawberries and - I mean this in all sincerity - a Matterhorn sized pile of whipped cream. "Just sweets for you this morning babe?"

"Oh hush and eat your cardiac arrest," she grinned.

Nary a word passed between us for the next 15 minutes. I hadn't realized just HOW hungry we were. If anyone had tried to take our plates, they would have come away with a reduction of digits.

Ummm . . . phylanges. Those would have been delicious.



*** the journey continues tomorrow. Curses issued to those who comment ***

Oh look! Shiny!

*** continued from previous post  ***

I tried to focus on the map again, just to make sure I hadn't made a mistake, but I hit the wrong button and became distracted by a new series of LOL Cats. Damn you barely literate felines! Must your antics amuse me so? Must your inability to conjugate a verb, or construct the correct tense send me into hysterics? Must you tickle the absurdity gene that seems to be prominent in my brain? I don't even try to squelch this passion anymore. All praise Ceiling Cat kthxbi! I make a mental note to donate a wad of cash to the 'Cheeseburgers 4 Kittehs Fund'. I think you'll agree in a nation as rich as ours, no LOL Cat should ever be without.

Right before I become completely immersed and stumble off into the dark reaches of the Interwebs, (By the by. . . did you know the Interwebs is a series of tubes? Who knew? Thank you Senator Ted Stevens for that bit of insight), Mom summons me downstairs. This can only mean trouble, and I think of hiding under my desk for a minute but I know that's just delaying the inevitable. Plus, there might be spiders under there. Ugh. So, like the good soldier I am, I trudge downstairs where your Mom, with furrowed brow, is surveying her collection.

"I think," she says glancing about the room, "that we may need to get an extra bag to tie onto the trunk. I don't see how we are possibly going to fit everything in unless we do."

I want to tell her that everything she has assembled to take on the trip would overfill a 3/4 ton truck, but I hold my tongue. Why? Well, I smell an opportunity to go buy another piece of gear for the bike. As you are well aware, no REAL rider ever turns down the opportunity to add to their bike-related accessories. The paraphernalia of the motorcycling world is vast and varied, but it all shares one thing in common - that crap ain't cheap. Yet the mantra of a good rider is 'more is never enough'. Unless you're talking about road-rash. Or rain. Or insurance premiums.

"Oh goody!" I squeal, "let's go buy things! Shiny, shiny things! We can go to the bike dealer, then down to Tacoma to that place with all the gear, then ---"

You Mom cuts me off mid-sentence. "Not so fast cowboy. I was thinking something cheap. And non-leather. Let's just go to the sporting goods store in town. I'll bet we can find something there."

Non leather? What heresy is this? I study her for any hints of all things PETA-y. Had she gone vegan on me when I was occupied? Later I would have to tempt her with bacon just to make sure. For now I had a different agenda.

*** the journey continues tomorrow