Normally I avoid McDonald's restaurants, mainly because I have no idea what animal kingdom claims Grimace and quite frankly, it frightens me and I often need to be held.
Sometimes, though, I have a weak moment and overlook Grimace's nebulous biology long enough to get some of the unhealthiest vittles available to the consumer world. After all, those soggy, burned starchy things are America's favorite fries.
This weekend, I weakened. I went to McDonald's without regard for Grimace's suspicious purple heritage. I went despite the unhealthy nature of the food. People do stupid things when they're hungry. I was a hungry person, so in keeping with that logic, I was stupid.
With the world watching (not really), I pulled into the parking lot, rolled my window down and opened my driver's side door from the outside. I did this because my door does not open from the inside anymore. As I do not drive the General Lee, I do not climb out the windows a la "The Dukes of Hazzard."
Incidentally, my car also makes weird popping noises when I drive, needs a new suspension, has 145,000 miles on it and, as luck would have it, is for sale right now. Please contact me if you are a lemon collector like my dad.
I strolled into the McDonald's establishment where some 937__ had been sold (according to the sign) and smoothly sashayed to the counter. Within seconds I had my order, which consisted of the revolutionary combination of some sort of sandwich, some size french fry and some size carbonated beverage.
As I stood in line, a middle-aged woman in front of me ordered. Before she could finish, a little girl ran up and asked her, "Grandma, Grandma, do you remember that time when you peed your pants a little?"
Suddenly my visit to McDonald's took an intriguing turn. What followed was a silence not unlike the silence of deep space. The restaurant suddenly became a vacuum. In McDonald's, no one can hear you scream. I'm cold, Ronald. I'm cold and I want an apple pie.
The employees behind the counter (who, unlike McDonald's employees in Hollywood, do not claim to be actors) tried in vain to stifle any trace of laughter. As for me, I conducted myself in a respectful, professional manner for precisely 1.8 seconds before losing it.
The woman, to whom I am tempted to refer from this point forward as "Incontinent Grandma," quickly hushed the child and excused herself from the counter. The time had come for me to place my order. I couldn't talk.
While I was laughing (not because I'm cruel, but because it was funny), my mind went into a mode of fleeting analytical thoughts. Once I caught my breath and broke these thoughts down, some of them (the ones unrelated to the gender of Ronald McDonald) made sense.
Someday, perhaps sooner than I expect, I could be a parent. With parenthood comes the old adage, "Kids say the darndest things." Moreover, with kids comes responsibility. With responsibility comes stress. With high stress comes heart failure. With heart failure comes death.
So, in essence, having children will probably kill me.
Still, I couldn't help but envy the woman. She had an innocent child with her who could embarrass her. That child may well grow up to be a doctor who prevents incontinence.
However unpredictable, children bring stability to life. We see them and we think about the future. Considering that, I hope a child embarrasses me to no end someday.
Until I figure out what Grimace is, that probably won't be in McDonald's.