On Saturday Kevin was feeling a little antsy so I took him to the mall. (I’m not joking—we have to base our trips partly on how close our hotel is to the nearest mall so that my husband doesn’t complain that, “It feels too much like camping.”)
While the mall was therapeutic for Kevin, though, I could feel myself physically shriveling up being inside a windowless building on a 70-degree day, so after two hours we headed out in the sun for lunch. Kevin had his heart set on the Heart Attack Grill, which is a difficult place to explain. Probably the best way is: if you are over 350 pounds you eat for free there, and their spokesperson died two weeks ago at 572 pounds. He was 29.
The only entrée on the menu is hamburgers, and the only difference in the four different hamburgers is the amount of meat on them. “Double bypass” is the smallest burger, at a mere two patties.
For sides you can get:
coke (regular only)
So we sat around in our appropriated hospital gowns, served by waitresses whose nurse outfits could only be purchased in the very back of a costume store, eating the worst burgers we’ve ever eaten and occasionally commenting on the tingly sensation we were getting in our left arms. I decided it was time to leave when Kevin broke out into the meat sweats and felt the need to tell everyone on Facebook.
Our last night in Phoenix, I got to cook for Renee’s husband’s parents (and Renee and her husband, too, of course). They had offered to cook for us, but I control-freaked that one back to me. All we really knew about them was that they were Mormon, so we weren’t sure if we should a) bring wine and b) wear garments. We settled on bringing sparkling cider and going commando. We were somewhat relieved, then, when the first question we were asked when we got to their house was, “Red or white?” After that, it was just a matter of remembering to sit cross-legged all night.
My friend’s-husband’s-parent’s house was beautiful, their garden was beautiful, and the people we ate with were all beautiful. Kevin and I did our usual thing where we get other people’s kids into a riled-up, foaming-at-the-mouth frenzy at 8PM then we bid farewell and skipped merrily away.
Karma is really going to get us one day. (Judging from how our own kids act, it seems it already has…)