These problems matter.

I can’t sleep.

I’m afraid my baby hates independent restaurants.

I guess I should say that those first two statements are unrelated.

Also, my baby hates independent restaurants.

All I ever want to eat is franchised nationally. Subway. Max & Erma’s. Wendy’s. BK. And now — do you want to know what I forced my husband to eat tonight?! Bob. Evans.

I physically drove my husband against his will into the parking lot of Bob Evans, home of the BOBurritto, where I ordered a Knife & Fork sandwich with turkey, noodles and mashed potatoes. Biscuit on the side.

Forgive me father, for I have carbed.

This morning, in an effort to avoid eating Bob Evans breakfast alone before 9 a.m., I made a shameful drive to Giant Eagle, where I bought “ready-to-eat” waffles and ate them in the car ride on the way back to the office.

Stereotypes, meet Preggers Teet.

The only locally owned joint I’ve had a craving for is Dirty Frank’s, the latest Lessner concept. But I’m afraid this brave act of defiance has become cliche in its own way. I mean, who isn’t in their 20s and also craving DF’s right now? I am the Everyman. The Hungry Everyman. The Hungryman.

If you need me, I’ll probably be at Applebees.

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  • Monsterbeard

    Hahaha, ready to eat waffles on the way home. Classic.

    My favorite part of going to Bob Evans is how excited you are beforehand and then you sit down and open the menu and a strange silence makes its way around the table as everyone realizes there’s nothing actually good on the menu.

    Ah, memories.

  • Jaydubs

    Bob Evans: Worst Adopt-A-School partner EVER. Seven-year-old me is still mad at them. And they don’t have hash browns, just home fries, which are totally lame.

    Do I defy the cliches by being in my thirties and craving Dirty Franks? Am I officially too old to be cool?

    Anyway, if you need a date, I have a husband who would love to take a trip to Applebees…