Fast food fixes

Today was a Costa day. 

Daniel caught me late last night when my defences were down and gratitude high, having just sorted me (again) on Facebook.  I'd entertained vague hopes that he might have forgotten by today, but before I can even mention a postponement, Jamie jumps in.

Jamie:    You promised Mum

Me:         How do you know, you were in bed?

Jamie:    I heard you

Me:         You were supposed to be asleep

Have they trained themselves to lie awake for my moments of weakness, so that there’s always a witness to corroborate?  No wonder Father Christmas got caught.

I consider doing the McDonald’s trick, that I learnt from Dan’s friend last week.  Bad planning meant I was walking with three hungry boys past McDonald’s at lunchtime.  Personally, I find McDonald’s makes me feel more like washing my hands, my hair and my clothes than eating, but they were insistent and they’re bigger than me.

My two go for a standard meal (in a libellous sense of the word), but Luke opts for a box of 20 chicken nuggets.  6 minutes and 32 seconds later they are all gone, and Luke is green and bilious for the rest of the day. 

A few days later when Luke was next offered McDonald’s chicken nuggets, he (allegedly) retorted, “They’re just dead to me now.”

Wonder how many Costa muffins I would need to turn the boys against them, but daren’t in case it backfires and feeds their addiction.   Perhaps I should bribe a member of staff to sneeze – or worse – over the muffins in front of the boys? 

Then again if they eat McDonald’s, that probably won’t put them off.