So Hubba-hubba went swimming at the gym the other day, and because I have a toddler that exhausts me, I asked him to pick up some dinner for us (not the kids) at Chik-fil-A.
I don't know if you have heard of them, but there is some excellent chicken-y goodness that happens there. I try to overlook the fact that they are owned by people are right wing Christians, so much so that they are closed on Sunday.
But my stomach apparently overrules my ethics.
Hubba-hubba drives up to the menu sign and starts ordering. They have lots of sauces for the chicken, and today he apparently wants a wide variety.
However, his vision is a little blurry due to the chlorine he has just swum in, and as he tries to read the sauces, he comes to one that stumps him.
Hubba-hubba: Uh, and I'll have Sweet and Sour, and uh, what is that? Burlesque sauce? You guys have a Burlesque sauce?
Worker: Sir? No, we don't have a Burlesque sauce. Do you mean Barbeque sauce?
Hubba-hubba: (laughing awkwardly because he has just made himself look like a total perverted asswipe) Oh, yeah, that says Barbeque, doesn't it?
So then he drives up to the window, knowing that he is already very dicey in the eyes of the employee, when he looks down and realizes that he still has his towel wrapped around his waist and that if said employee was the paranoid type, it would totally look like this old pervy guy was gettting ready to flash him.
What better way to endear yourself to the workers at the Christian restaurant than to call their sauce by a sexy name and look like you are dressed in only a towel?
Yeah, that's the father of my kids.
I'm so very proud.