Yum.
I think I ate dogs more times a week than I probably should have, but there was no way my mom was going to argue with three kids jumping up and down and chanting "hot dogs, hot dogs, hot dogs," whenever we wanted them. So when a new Sonic opened up near me I thought I'd give it a whirl. Mind you, I hadn't had a hot dog in years. I can't even recall the last time I'd had a hamburger. Red meat holds little attraction for me.
I looked at the menu and gave my best guess as to what combination would taste good to me. The server on rollerskates, handed me that steaming dog, and I couldn't wait to unwrap it and sink my teeth in. I took the first bite and tasted nothing good. Wait a minute, I thought. That's not supposed to taste like that... at least, that's not the taste I remember. It's probably me. I took another bite. I thought I was going to hurl. They couldn't have been this bad when I was a kid, I would have fed them to the dog under the table. I looked at that dog like it had just delivered a bitch slap. What had I done to deserve such an assault on my tastebuds? That dog tasted worse than caviar to me, and I had spit that out the first time I ate it (delicately, of course). I thought about taking another bite and remembered if it tasted that bad, what would it do to my digestion? Visions of hanging onto to the throne rushed my brain. I'd promise God I'd never eat another hot dog again as my stomach lurched, and I'd bring up more of the offending content. I gulped and took a long slurp of water. I looked back at that dog and my mouth crimped in that face kids give you when they're refusing to eat what you're offering. My daughter said if I wasn't going to eat the rest that she'd take it. I happily handed it to her and came home and ate chicken.
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