Kids Meal Conundrum

Just when I get comfortable with my parenting abilities and my children's age-appropriate development, they crush me like a pile of Pringles.

It happened the other day, when I allowed myself to be talked into treating them to a Kid's Meal at one of those McPlaces (which shall remain McNameless.)

Normally, I avoid these establishments like the plague. There's the nutrition issue, the grease-stain-on-upholstery issue, and the stepping on those silly toys and needing 12 stitches issue. Lets just say it's not one of my favorite ways to incinerate six bucks.

Naturally, the kids love it. Or more accurately, have developed a deep and yearning passion for sub-standard nutritionally bereft food and useless playthings designed to addict them to the whole merchandising process. McYippee. Plus there's that whimsical drive-through adventure…

Is it just me, or has drive-through service gotten really bad over the years? In the olden days, you could pretty much count on being back on the road only about 5 minutes behind, as long as the van in front of you wasn't carrying a little league team. Not so anymore! Have you noticed the multi-colored claws on these servers? They aren't a fashion statement, they just sprout while waiting untold hours for a piece of grilled chicken.

This particular McPlace however, while bad, cannot hold a badness candle (I made that term up) to KrispyKreme - the absolute worst drive-through in the history of all drive-throughs.

At our local KrispyKreme, there is absolutely no correlation between what you order, how much you pay, and what you get. It's the pot-luck king of the drive-though industry. In fact, I'm quite sure that the speaker used to place your order is not even connected to the inside of the building, but instead has its own ham radio tower. I swear the guy was speaking Russian last time. But I digress.

On this particular McDrive-though journey, I was fairly impressed with the sequence of events. It was almost TOO easy. Kind of like Solo and Skywalker escaping the Death Star with the rescued princess, along with a handy homing beacon planted by the enemy.

One hamburger kid's meal (chocolate shake) plus one kid's chicken nugget meal (chocolate shake.)
Nothing for me, thanks. Can you say "angioplasty?"

We headed home, and upon arrival, made it almost to the kitchen before bags were unceremoniously torn from my hand, and the kids were mining for toys.

A-HA! Two toys. Two meals.
They're getting better!

So off I went to shed my work clothes for more grease-resistant attire, comfortable that I had at least 4 ½ minutes of peace.

Not so! In less than 30 seconds, the pitter patter of wild elephants and accompanying wails of distress nearly caused me to lose a fraction of my skull to the dresser, as my foot narrowly missed the leg hole, and hung up on the crotch. (Why I share these things with you people, I'll never know.)

Completely oblivious to my compromised position, they related their horrible gut-wrenching predicament, amid sobs and accusatory gestures.

Apparently, it seemed, the McPeople messed up BOTH of their orders!

Instead of chicken, Abby received a hamburger.
Instead of a hamburger, Max received chicken.

Unbelievable.
What do you think are the odds?