Usually when people ask you what you did for the weekend, they don't really want to know everything you did over the weekend. One thing will do. I know this because I have tried telling people all the details. They usually nod off at about the point where I describe how I chose which socks to wear on Saturday morning.
However, there are times when you can say one thing and actually describe what you did the entire weekend. For example, a coworker asked me what I did over the weekend, and I was able to answer with two words: "I ate." That's pretty much all I did. I spent the weekend sitting at tables while people put food in front of me. Then I shoveled the food into my mouth.
The weekend started with a Friday night trip to Southern California's Ontario Improv. The comedians were good, but the cheeseburger I had was better. It was served on a fresh white bun with a slice of melted swiss, and was chased down by a Coke and a vodka collins. I mention the drink because my wife, Sharron, didn't have anything alcoholic that night. As a result, she woke up with a craving for it the next morning. I suggested we go somewhere for lunch that could help her out. We opted for Red Lobster, where I could satisfy my overwhelming desire for Cheddar Bay biscuits and Sharron could satisfy her craving with a margarita.
I guess there was some sort of communication breakdown, because the waiter didn't bring a margarita, he brought several gallons of margarita. The glass was huge. Our straws looked like toothpicks sticking out of it. I described the drink as decadent. Sharron referred to it as obscene and embarrassing.
"What's wrong with these people? Why would they do this?" she asked. She had a couple sips. I drank the rest. I woke up a few hours later on the sofa at home. Sharron informed me that I had consumed great quantities of salad, shrimp, fish, and biscuits, then passed out and had to be carried out to the car by security guards who complained about how heavy I was.
When Sunday arrived, we were still highly resistant to any form of eating that involved entering the kitchen, so we found ourselves at Islands restaurant. I decided to see if I could relive my Friday night bliss and ordered a cheeseburger. Sharron asked if I wanted to share some fries. Quite healthily, I answered, "No." That was the first time I had used the word over the whole entire weekend, and it felt kind of odd coming out of my mouth.
"How about some cheddar fries?" Sharron asked.
"Absolutely," I answered without a moment of hesitation. "Bring 'em on!" We ordered the fries and then Sharron made me close my menu before I could see how much they cost.
Apparently the same company that manufactures Red Lobster's "margaritas by the bucket" also is in charge of producing Island's "cheddar fries by the ton." The waitress waved the truck in. It backed up to an open window and dumped a full load onto the table. Fries spilled over the edge of the table and Sharron had to dig through them to find her purse. She snatched it away just before I was about to take a bite out of it.
I ate everything on the table including, quite accidentally, the salt shaker.
Monday morning, once I was through telling my coworkers about my eating adventures, I asked my boss for a new chair.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because the old one busted when I sat in it this morning."
He wasn't very sympathetic. People just don't have any compassion these days, you know?
I didn't let it bother me though, because, well, it was time for lunch. Speaking of which, I had a low calorie yogurt and a slice of grapefruit.
Okay, okay, I understand your skepticism. Actually, I had a salad. The people at the McDonald's drive-through recognized me and were surprised at my menu choice.
"Are you feeling okay?" my friend at the drive-through window asked.
"Just checking," she said. "Here's your salad. And here's your chocolate shake and your two apple pies."
"Thanks!" I said as I drove off. "You made my day." There's just nothing like eating well to make you feel good.