Seven days ago yesterday I brought Maybel into the office on a Sunday to catch up on some work.
On the way back to Bangs, we grabbed some dinner at (gulp) the McDonald’s drive-through because I was starving and tired and lazy.
Knowing it would be impossible to peacefully eat my greasy sandwich with The Pig in the car, I ordered her a six-piece of chicken nuggets to keep her occupied while I finished my meal.
Upon check-out, the cashier asked me what type of sauce I would like for my chicken nuggets.
For some reason, it seemed mortifying to me at the time to admit that I was ordering food for my dog. I thought about directing the question toward the back seat, but declined. If I ordered a sauce, I reasoned, the lady would be more likely to believe that the nuggets were for me, so I asked for some barbeque and Maybel and I went on our way.
Six days later, and the barbeque sauce sits in the front passenger seat unopened.
Seven days later and I get out of the passenger seat to find the forgotten sauce had squirted open all over the front seat and all over my pants.
Nothing on the seating area, strangely, but down the back of my leg. It is about 8:30 a.m. and I have sopped most of it up.
Curse you, pride!
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