Julia was extra-super good at her piano class today, so Dave and I decided to reward her with lunch at her favorite eatery.
Or maybe I suggested we grab a bite to eat and let Julia pick the place because I knew she’d choose McDonald’s and that’s where I really wanted to go.
Once it was settled, I told Dave, “I want a Big Mac meal.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go to Wendy’s for a Baconator?”
“No. Monopoly. You get extra game pieces with the Big Mac meal.”
Yeah, Monopoly. The only thing that could come between me and a Baconator. It started at McDonald’s on October 2 and, since then, I’ve been there as often as I can, in good conscience, to play the game.
Let me warn you, if you’re thinking about telling me that fast food is bad for you and judge judge judge and preach preach preach, just stop. Don’t say a word. You’re up against MONOPOLY. You cannot win. Not with truth. Not with logic. NOT WITH ANYTHING!
I am fully aware that the child I’m carrying may be born with red hair and a clown nose. I completely expect that when the doctor puts that Doppler on my belly next week, we’ll hear “Ba-da Ba Ba Baaa I’m lovin’ it.” But, it’s MONOPOLY! And it’s pure marketing genius.
And this is why McDonald’s perplexes me. How can they give me something as wonderful and perfect as Monopoly, then turn around and hand my child something like this?
Luckily, Julia was busy in the play area when we opened her Happy Meal and discovered this prize.
I took her out of her plastic package and showed her to Dave.
“Girlfriend is wearing a whole lotta make-up, isn’t she?”
He took her from my hand, looked her over and said, “She’s not wearing much either. I don’t like how short her skirt is,” and handed her back.
“Bare midriff…look at those ‘ooooh’ lips. She looks like a prostitute,” I said and looked closer. A little shocked, I held her up to Dave, “David. Look at her lips. And her chin. And her neck.”
He leaned in closer.
I pointed and said, “She looks like a prostitute that just finished a job, if ya know what I mean.”
“Oh my goodness. Does she have a pearl necklace?”
I don’t know about you all, but it looked that way to me. It seems funny that people who would go to so much trouble to give this little toy the detail of having holes in her ears so you can tell they are pierced, would get so darn sloppy with their glue.
We decided not to give her to Julia. Instead, I hid her with our stash of sex toys. You know, where she’d feel at home.