So the big shindig is Saturday, but we had to go out to eat on the actual day. It's, like, illegal or something to cook on a family member's birthday. We're all finished eating and waiting to pay; Punkin is falling apart by the second. At every mention of birthday, he yells, "NO!" and turns away from everyone.
His next logical choice is to rip a hole in his take home box, which he cries about. A lot. Everyone is staring, I'm sure, wondering what the heck, "MY BOX! I BROKE IT!" is all about. So then he rips the lid off of the box. As I'm trying to talk him down and explain that yes, we will in fact be going to the car as soon as he can climb out of the booth, which is of course one of those corner ones so we're trapped, I hear a whoosh. Chicken strips and fries are flying; I am 95% sure I saw one hit my friend in the head.
Punkin is destroyed: he's trapped, he's tired, and now he's gone and made a gigantic mess. I look at him and even before the words start coming out I feel the laughter in my belly. I know the sentence is ridiculous, but I don't know what else to say. "I know you want to leave. I know you are sad and angry. You can't throw your food. Your chicken ...." The snickers start. I turn my head, "I will not laugh when I say this. I will not laugh when I say this." I turn back to Punkin, "Your chicken hit our friends."
And that's when it was all over for me. Poor Punkin is sobbing, our poor friends are standing around the booth trying to let us out, and I am crying from the mental image of a rubber chicken bonking my family on the head.
I really thought it couldn't get any more ridiculous than, "Why do you have a ham rind in your pocket?"or "Get your face out of the toilet." But it can. Oh, it can.
Honestly, it reminded me of the time my parents took us out to eat when we were young and my mom told me to blow on my soup to cool it off. So I took a spoonful and did just that, sending it soaring right into the next table.