We had a great time over at some friends' house for dinner tonight. S's best friend M mentioned that he is an avid reader of my blog (not that you would know this by my comment section!). However, he finds that I am too depressing, and that all my talk of adoption is boring. Sorry, M.
So, I thought the only logical course of action would be to write a blog just for M. Well... with keeping M in mind. (I suggested his own wife write a guest blog, since she, too, is a QM wife, but she said the world isn't ready for that, yet).
Anyway, S brought up that we bat around the phrase "Why don't we ever go to Sizzler?" You have to say this in kind of a dopey, nasally voice (think Milton in Office Space), but it is exactly what S asks me every time we pass by Sizzler and exactly how he says it. We don't go to Sizzler because I am a snob. I have very specific ideas about what is good, socially acceptable food, and Sizzler is not it. Ruth's Chris? Yes. Mellow Mushroom? Yes. Waffle House? Yes. Sizzler? No.
Also... we don't actually go out to eat very often. For one thing, there aren't that many great restaurants around Fort Lewis. And those that are good/look good are expensive. I can go home to Ga and get vegetable fajitas for $8.99. In Wa, vegetable fajitas at the Mexican restaurant around the corner are $14.99. I don't understand... Also, as an officer, he is expected to go to so many unit social events, it's just nice to have time at home together.
Wow. I digress. Well, so my husband really wants to go to Sizzler. Lucky for him, we get coupons in the mail for their establishment at least once a week, and I do believe they make gift cards. I have really been struggling with what to get him for the holidays this years, and I do believe I have found the perfect solution: A trip to Sizzler.
Honestly, I am pretty nervous about going, but I do love the man, and sometimes you have to make sacrifices for those you love. I just imagine that the moment I step into Sizzler, Volcano Rainier will explode, and I will not only die, but I will die in a Sizzler. Can you imagine a burial site any more depressing?
Old Country Buffet? Well... yes. You got me there with that one.
So, wish me luck. And send me suggestions for new ways to show my husband how much I care for him once I have succumbed to the ultimate act of love.
*BTW, my husband has never asked why we never go to Sizzler in a serious manner, and he also doesn't sound like Milton. Leonard from The Big Bang Theory, maybe...