I knew I should stop.
But I just couldn’t.
They were just so good.
“Geez, Mommy, you’re a pig,” Tommy observed, breaking my euphoria.
A pig? Excuse me? I most certainly wasn’t a…I mean, okay, so I inhaled 3 Texas Roadhouse rolls at lightening speed. But that’s only because they taste the best warm.
“It’s not nice to call people pigs,” I reminded Tommy as I slathered the delicious cinnamon honey butter on my roll.
“I know but…you ate all the rolls. I only got one,” Tommy pouted.
“We’ll get more,” I promised. At that moment, the waitress came over. She was terribly skinny and made me think that she’s never had a carb a day in her life.
“We need more rolls because my Mom ate them all,” Tommy said accusingly.
I wanted to disappear. The waitress smiled politely at me.
“The rolls are fabulous,” I offered weakly. She probably didn’t know. She looked like she wore a 00 size. I always get the ultra skinny waitresses serving me. It’s like Jillian Michaels is watching me and sending out waifs to remind me of what I could look like if I didn’t eat so much junk. Sorry Jillian Michaels. If I didn’t have my fatty foods, I’d be horribly cranky.
“I’ll bring more rolls,” the waitress assured us. “What can I get you to drink?”
I ordered a sweet tea. After she left to get our drinks, Natalie smiled up at me.
“Mommy,” she said. “You look like Toodee.”
Aww, wasn’t that sweet. She thought I looked like Toodee from Yo Gabba Gabba. Only…wait, Toodee was blue. With fangs.
“Natalie,” I said. “When you said I looked like Toodee, what exactly did you mean by that?”
Natalie was already focused on something else. She was busy coloring on her Texas Roadhouse kids menu.
“Natalie?” I tried again. Oh, what was the use? Trying to get three-year-olds to explain themselves is like hoping the Kardashians will go away: it’s just not gonna happen. So fine, my daughter thought I looked like a blue rabid looking creature and my son thought I was a pig. Neat.
The waitress brought more rolls and our drinks. She took our food orders and then left. Tommy quickly swiped a roll—what, did he think I’d grab them all and stuff them in my mouth? Probably.
I took a few gulps of sweet tea. Ahh, that’s the stuff. Then I reached for another roll.
And then I proceeded to knock my sweet tea over. The liquid spilled over the table and dripped onto the floor.
“The rolls!” Tommy yelled, picking them up.
If I hadn’t been so embarrassed, I’d have been proud.
Sometimes I feel like I spill stuff more than the kids. I am such a klutz. I feel I invented the whole walking into the glass door thing that’s done so often in movies. Some big shot movie producer probably witnessed me doing that and was like, “Sweet. Great comical moment.”
I started cleaning up my mess while Tommy just chewed on his rolls and Natalie continued to color even though most of her paper was now wet.
“It’s okay, keep doing what you are doing,” I said sarcastically. “I can handle this. It’s not like I don’t clean up your messes daily.”
“Everything okay?” our waitress asks. She saw the spilled drink. “Oh, oops. I’ll be back with some paper towels.”
I managed to clean up my mess and the waitress got me a fresh sweet tea.
“Don’t spill that one,” Tommy said.