Being a child who spends A LOT of time in the car, LK has created her own car game. It’s called the food game.
LK is the owner, chef and server at a restaurant, unless there’s a complaint. In that case, S.A.M. becomes the owner, chef or server. When D. is in the car he plays the health inspector and will shut LK’s restaurant down for health code violations, which is always good for some noisy drama.
The restaurant does not have menus, requiring the patron (me) to order off the cuff.
It’s much harder than it sounds. Here’s the short version:
LK: Let’s play the food game.
Me, thinking: I’m listening to NPR!
Me, turning down NPR: Sure.
LK: What do you want?
Me: What are you serving?
LK: No menu here. What do you want?
Me: A hamburger?
LK: We’re out of those.
LK: We’re out of those too.
Me: Ham sandwich? Cheese? Tacos? Chicken nuggets? Cocktails? Nachos? Mushrooms? Liver?
Me: WHAT DO YOU HAVE?
LK: Ummm… ice cream.
Me: If you don’t serve hamburgers I’m going down the street to the other restaurant. They have better service.
LK: We have hamburgers. Do you want pickles?
Me: The management is horrible here.
LK, pointing to the car seat next to her: That’s S.A.M. Talk to him.
S.A.M., slapping LK’s finger away: Grrrrr. Ugh. Grrrrrrrr. ROARA!
And then it all starts over, but I’m the restaurant. I serve gum and turn up the radio.