rhymes with "Wendy's," probably because it is "Wendy's." Aside from the employees, we were the only people there. A bit strange, I thought, since it was dinnertime. You'd think at least a couple of people would be there. As we were enjoying our Frosty-induced brain-freezes, a Domino's delivery car pulled up. Ironic, I thought, that the Domino's guy eats here. Wrong. He wasn't eating - he was making a delivery. To the people who had just made our food. I peered down at what was left of my sad, pale french fries, wondering what bizarre culinary stories they might offer. I was suddenly happy that taters tell no tales. Sometimes it's just better off not knowing.
I like pizza as much as the next animal, but don't you think it's bad form to have a Domino's delivery walk in the front door of your restaurant? Wouldn't you at least hide your indiscretion a wee bit? Maybe eat pizza at home, go pick it up, have it delivered to the back door, anything but plop it right on the counter for all to see. I felt a tad betrayed. Defiled, almost. Ok, maybe not defiled. More like in a Woody Allen movie, where something's not quite right, and it may be funny, but you're aware of your own laughter, so you can't really laugh comfortably because you may be wrong about the supposed humor and then everyone will laugh at you.Unfortunately the irony was sitting in my stomach right next to my food, and they were not getting along very well. Like sitting next to Woody Allen and he's constantly adjusting his glasses and shifting around and asking silly questions and you just want to pop him one. Well, sort of like that.
I sure wish I had a pizza.
