I Reallyyy.......... Have to Go

Recently, I took a short trip of a little over four hours to visit a friend. He lives in a small cabin in an isolated, but accessible area of a nearby mountain range, far from civilization. About an hour into my trip, I began to feel an uncomfortable, but familiar sensation. Stopping at a Dunkin Donuts restaurant, I parked, and moved swiftly towards the last available place to procure coffee, and use the facilities, before reaching my destination. A small town with a diner and a gas station were conveniently located near my friend’s cabin, but there was at least a hundred and fifty miles of forest-lined highways, and mountain roads between my current location, and the next stop.

Entering the Dunkin Donuts, I rapidly and awkwardly moved towards the men’s room, only to face a sign on the door saying, “Sorry, bathroom is closed.” Turning to the women’s restroom, and praying it wasn’t occupied, I saw another sign with the words, “Out of Order,” displayed in big bold letters. Is it just me, or wouldn’t you think an establishment selling bladder bursting, hot and cold beverages, would either have a plumber on site twenty-four hours a day, or provide emergency, portable restrooms for customers to use at all times? I can tell you this; I reallyyy………. had to go. Skipping the coffee, and heading to my car, I figured somewhere ahead in an inhospitable, and bear-filled wilderness was a tree along the side of the road with my name on it.

If Only Pictures Could Talk

"Guys, it was inhuman. He was the biggest, most hideous dog I've ever seen in my life. I'm not often scared. I've been known to run in front of giant eighteen-wheelers on Friday the Thirteenth, have already used up seven of my nine lives, and tussled a few times with old lady Gruber's nasty little Schnauzer, Peanut. Heck, I once clung desperately to the back-end of the broom of a wart-encrusted, cackling witch at ten thousand feet! This was much worse. When he slowly came towards me, he opened his massive jaws to reveal long, razor-sharp canines. I know, I ingested a little too much catnip last night, but I swear; I saw fluffy, Mrs. McDougal's cat, who disappeared last week, wedged up in the roof of his mouth. As he came at me, he reached his paws towards me, and he looked just like this – except a whole lot scarier."

Lunch Meat Wars

How many of you regularly visit a local delicatessen to procure fine meats, chesses, and assorted hot and cold items? Here in the United States we call them delis, and many are located inside major supermarket chains. Delicatessens originated in Germany during the 18^th century, and then spread to most of Europe, before becoming popular in America. I heard that the word was derived from the French word, “delicatesse,” which means, “delicious things to eat.” I think, when I finish writing this simple observation, I’m going to hit my favorite “delicatesse.” It’s called – Burger King.

I was at my local supermarket yesterday to pick up some lunch meat, or what is also called sliced meats, deli meats, luncheon meats or cold cuts. I also needed an assortment of some of my favorite sliced cheeses. Whenever I’m at the deli, it always seems to be a little crazy. People are pushing and shoving each other, everyone’s jostling for position in front of the big glass cases, words I can’t mention on this blog are volleyed back and forth, and fights are breaking out after people butt in front of someone else. It’s exactly what happens at my family’s wedding receptions, when the buffet line is officially opened.