Last Saturday, Jack had to work again ("it'll take about 3 hours" which I have learned translates into "I'll be busy all day.") Being the wonderful husband that he is, he still offered to pick up breakfast; Wendy's was on the menu.
If I may pause from my prose a moment, I'd like to tell you about Wendy's breakfast. It is fantastic. If you are not fortunate enough to live in a market that offers it - as some Wendy's restaurants do not - then you should ask to speak to the manager immediately and find out why they hate your town. They offer the traditional biscuits, but they like to call them frescuits. I suppose that is because they make them fresh every day. I don't care what Wendy wants to call them; I call them delishcuits. I'll let you figure out why. And if you're feeling extra froggy, jump into a maple baked frescuit. You'll never look back. But I've gotten way off track.
This is the Wendy's bag that was presented to me a short time later by my brother, who was helping Jack for a half a day. Jack was still outside, moving some equipment around, finding more things he needed to work on (hence the 3 hrs = all day technicality).
Did you know they have natural cut fries now? Still not half as good as the fries at McDonalds.
When I peeked inside the bag, I was certain there had been a mistake. I was not about to put my hand inside to find out. So I tore the bag open instead. This is what was inside:
Two empty burrito wrappers; sausage/egg burrito remnants; a crumpled, dirty napkin; an empty sauce packet and a piece of junk mail that looked as though it had been used to clean a saucy spill. Further inspection slowed clues that my delishcuit was indeed at the bottom of the trash bag, peeking out from behind the saucy junk mail.
This realization left me facing a dilemma of gargantuan proportions. To eat, or not to eat. On one hand, my breakfast was sitting underneath a pile of trash. For most of you, that's an instant no brainer. But for those of us who use our children in lieu of brooms, eating leftovers off of the floor is not only allowed, but encouraged. So it is not a huge leap from eating food off of the floor to eating food from the trash, right?
And let's face it, the trash in question was also delicious Wendy's breakfast, or had been very recently, so it all kind of blended in together nicely in an aromatic kind of way. And I was pretty sure none of it had been on the floor, with the possible exception of the saucy junk mail, and I honestly did not want to think about where that had been.
On the other hand, my delishcuit was still encased in its flavor-protecting wrapper. It hadn't actually touched the saucy smorgasbord of someone else's garbage. And that someone else was my husband, not some random, filthy stranger.
So I ask, what would you have done?