I was going through the pics on my phone just now and found a bunch from when my husband and I drove across the country between Texas and California for the second time. These pictures in particular struck me:
It was our first In-N-Out after three years of fasting in Texas, which, for some unholy reason, does not have In-N-Out except for Fort Worth. (Yet another reason I hate Texas and Texas is basically Satan’s butthole.) I remember the moment we saw the sign from the highway, just outside of Tuscon.
We’d already been stuck in the cramped cab of a Budget van for two days, which sucks when one of you is a lazy shit who wants to sleep the whole way, and the other suffers from adult ADHD. I, clearly, am the lazy shit. My husband, on the other hand, gets so bored that, every time I doze off, I startle awake to a finger digging into my ear or bellybutton. He’s a weirdo– he can’t help it. The unmistakable sign was an oasis in the literal desert. The conversation that followed between my husband and I went something like this :
Me: IN-N-OUT!!!!! OH, HOLY GOD, IT’S AN IN-N-OUT!!!! HONEY! HONEY!! STOP THE DAMN TRUCK!!
Hubby: I’m pulling over. Stop screaming! Damn, bitch.
Me: (emitting high-pitched shriek that only dogs can hear)
Hubby: There’s construction. How the hell do I get to the parking lot??!
Me: SWEET JESUS!!!! PULL OVER ON THE SHOULDER!! I’LL RUN ACROSS THE HIGHWAY!!!
Hubby: (desperately searching for a parking lot in which he could re-direct a moving van towing an SUV) That’s eight lanes of traffic! Put your seatbelt back on! There’s a cop up there! Don’t get me pulled over, woman!!!
Me: You’re passing perfectly good parking lots! For shit’s sake, man, just get me to In-N-Out!
Hubby: Shut up! I know what I’m doing! (finally finds a place to turn around, almost hits four parked cars with our SUV)
Me: Clearly you do not! I’m growing murderous! Park the goddamned truck!!!
Hubby: (parks and looks far more murderous than I do) Stop talking. Walk. (grabs my shoulders and physically directs me to the restaurant)
Ten minutes later we were sitting at a crappy, plastic table with the most glorious burgers and fries in front of us. It was a dangerously irresponsible amount of food. There is nothing on this planet like sinking your teeth into an animal-style In-N-Out burger and animal-style fries (only true In-N-Outters know what I’m talking about) after three full years of nothing but Dairy Queen, McDonald’s, and Whataburger. Ya know how they say food brings people together? (Do they say that? I don’t know. In my opinion, delicious food is capable of all sorts of miracles.) Despite the fact that my sweet husband and I had nearly ripped each others’ heads off trying to find a parking spot (and the fact that my cranial orifices had been repeatedly and uninvitedly violated by wandering fingers), what followed was the most pleasant stretch of our trip. If it wasn’t for the fact that I have a metabolism that can handle about one meal a day, I’d be a full-on foodie. Food is the great equalizer. And death. But food is way funner to think about.