This evening the kids and I took fajitas from a local restaurant to some dear friends with a new baby. The food smelled really good and I thought about getting some for us, but since Curt was gone for the evening I didn't want to get fajitas for just me and the kids. They really don't appreciate fajitas yet. I trust they'll eventually develop the palate of good little Texans, but until then, there's always fried chicken. Now Texans love some fried chicken, but who doesn't?
I pointed the car in the direction of my favorite place to get chicken strips, fried okra, and rolls. It just so happens that this fried chicken joint shares a roof and a doorway with a gas station. Don't hate - they have the perfect crunchy, yummy batter. Nothing else will do!
So we're in the drive thru, because I really don't want to go inside the gas station fried chicken place, when Annabeth says, "Mommy, I have to go tee tee!" There's enough panic in her voice that I know she's for real and can't wait. I parked the car and we went inside the chicken place to find a potty.
I was so excited when I realized that the fried chicken place shared not only a roof and a doorway, but also a bathroom with the gas station. Yay! And the ladies side was out of order. Double yay!
We walk into the bathroom and I almost retch a the sight of a urinal, filthy sink, overflowing trashcan, and just overall disgustingness. At first I was too busy barking "Don't touch anything!" at my kids to realize that every nasty word in the English language is scrawled on the bathroom door. And guess what, y'all? My kid can read now. Let's celebrate literacy!
Now I'm barking, "Jackson! Do not read the wall. Those are very bad words. Do not even try to sound those words out. Turn around and don't look at it! "
By the time we stumbled out of there, I was in no shape to deal with the long line that had formed at the gas station chicken place. See, I'm not the only one that likes it. I'm convinced the deep, dark secret of my neighborhood is that everyone eats fried chicken from the gas station but no one talks about it.
What could we do at this point but go home and eat leftovers? Boo hoo.
So, folks, I think I learned a lesson. Sometimes it might be better to let your kid pee her pants.