Conservative Meal

 I looked at all the Mid-Life Crisis choices and decided on cycling. I’m not financially secure enough to buy a sports car. An affair feels like a lot of work. Plus I love Diana. I have too much access to wine to start getting into bourbon.

 

So, I decided to become one of those paunchy guys in Lycra you see on the ride of the road. I bought a semi expensive thing with two wheels and am already scouting out my N+1 bike.

 

My hobby requires me to spend hours crisscrossing the suburban trails to justify my purchases. Sometimes with other Mid-Life Crisis sufferers.

 

A few weeks ago I was on one such ride with a pal. We were maintaining a lovely glacial pace when I looked down and realized my phone was missing. It had obviously been thrown while I was getting rad on a small rise in the dirt.

 

After a halfhearted search, I decided it was gone forever and rode to the nearest Verizon. The very nice lady told me I would have to not only pay off my lost phone, but the new phone would also cost four billion dollars. I paused on the transaction and rode home to gameplan how to ride the purchase from the family. I’d gotten pretty good at hiding Lycra purchases, but this one would require a little more effort.

 

I was met at the door by Luca, who said, “Dad I found your phone and contacted the lady who has it and all we have to do is go to Des Plaines.” I stared at him like a Neanderthal who saw his first Bic lighter. 

 

Luca came with me because the lady who found it was a little nervous about being murdered by strangers. I figured an unwashed, disheveled teen would alleviate any fear.

 

The handoff went without a hitch. We didn’t murder her. She had found my phone while on horseback, so we got to meet her nice horse who did that thing where it kind of bit me put in a nice way.

 

On the way home, I told Luca he could have anything he wanted for dinner. Whatever gross fried thing he wanted was his reward.

 

He got a little look on his face and said, “What if we got Chik-Fil-A?”

 

Ooh. Tough one. As liberal cry babies, we are required to hate Chik-Fil-A. Because of the…things they do. You know. Their stuff that goes against our…um…beliefs? I don’t know. All I know is Diana won’t let us go there. Luca and Elijah have never set foot in a Chik. 

 

“Hmm. Ok. Let’s keep this between us, shall we?” Luca nodded in solemn agreement. This would be a secret we would take to the grave, or publish in a blog no one reads. 

 

Luckily, Des Plaines is overrun with fast food joints and we found a Chik almost immediately. Luca got the basics: a sandwich, a fry and a shake. I got nothing because of my Lutheran guilt. Plus, I look really paunchy in Lycra. 

 

I let my distaste of their politics be known through my courteous and polite attitude. Take that, Chik.

 

Luca devoured his meal and did not burst into flames or get pulled over by Nancy Pelosi. 

 

When we got home, we buried the wrappers in the bottom of our garbage bin. Diana was none the wiser.

 

Hi Diana!