mom decided that we should go out to dinner since she hardly ever sees me and she’s a big baby about it. of course, since i don’t want my membership in the daughter club revoked, i go.

sister #4 calls me from work and asks where i’d like to go eat dinner, and to remind me of the fact that she and mom must be home by 7 so as to not miss a second of Big Brother.

“do you want to eat in shakopee or come to eden prairie?”
“mom says there’s nothing good in shakopee.”
“ok, what are you hungry for?”
“we don’t care.”
“how about the great mandarin.”
“no, we just had chinese.”
“champps?”
“no, too crowded.”
“that new pizza place.”
“no, mom doesn’t like pizza.”
“ok, how about you guys decide.”
“ok, i’ll call you right back.”

ten minutes later the phone rings again.

“you’re not gonna believe this.”
“what?”
“they want wendys.”
“what?”
“yeah, they want wendys.”
“i’m not going to wendys. you guys can go and i’ll just eat at home.”
“well that’s what they want.”
“that’s fine, go to wendys. i don’t want fast food.”
“well where should we go.”
“how about chevys?”

so we decide to meet at chevys. that was my first mistake. we’re seated around a round table. my mom’s on my right, dad’s on my left. the waiter stands between my dad and i, ready to take our order.

“do you have any questions?”
“yeah,” my mom said, “come over here.” the waiter trots over and stands beside her, peering at the menu she has open before her.
“what’s this picadilly beef?” she said pointing to the description of the picadillo beef taco.
“picadillo beef is just our ground beef with some spices.”
“is it spicy?”
“no, not really,” he said sound apologetic.
“good! i hate spicy. blech, i can’t eat spicy. i’ll have the picadilly taco and a beef enchilala.”
“a picadillo taco and a beef chimichanga?”
“no, a beef enchilala.”
“mom, it’s an enchilaDA,” sister #4 said.
“enichlala, enchilaLA, what’s the difference. he knew what i meant.”
“apparently he didn’t if he thought she wanted a chimichanga,” i said out of the corner of my mouth to my dad.
“you guys, stop picking one me,” she said, “now i don’t want any of the sour cream or green bullshit.”
“mom!”
“no sour cream or guacamole.”
“yeah, none of that crap. i don’t like it at all.”
“so what kind of beans would you like?”
“i want rice.”
“yes, it comes with rice and your choice of la charra beans, vegetarian black beans or refried beans.”
“how about green beans?”
“he didn’t say green beans.”
“how am i supposed to know what la charbroil beans are?”
“just. . . get. . . refried,” sister #4 said.

of course we had to spend the rest of the meal asking her how her picadilly beef and enchilala were. really, after this and the ugly barbecue sauce incident i am convinced that we cannot take her anywhere.