Monday, Denny’s Monday

Mondays usually suck, and yesterday was no exception. Because my scalp, face, and neck are burned fairly badly, the air conditioner is too cold and the muggy weather is too hot. I had a hell of a time trying to take an afternoon nap. When I got up, I was greeted by Lynnette and a runny-nosed, coughing Madison. We took a trip to Kapolei for sale soda and sandwich meats. But first, we ate dinner at Denny’s. Win.

Fried. Cheese. Sandwich.

Fried. Cheese. Sandwich.

If I worked out and/or had the kind of metabolism I possessed in my youth, I would eat the fried cheese sandwich as often as I’d like. That would be a lot. As it stands, I can only afford to eat this gooey goodness rarely. My tongue loves me for it, the rest of me not so much. Not to be overlooked is the side of marinara for dipping. I’m generally a fan of anything that makes a sandwich juicier and/or taste like pizza. It’s not a hard and fast rule, but I feel like it’s a good guideline. I don’t like that Denny’s has changed its fries to the ones pictured here. They’re kind of blah. No crunch, no distinct taste, just filler. After giving three fries a chance, my mind drifted towards possibilities of ordering the sandwich ala carte, then ordering a second one ala carte. Those fries can be forgiven, however, simply by merit of Denny’s inspired decision to bring back the sandwich and keep it on the menu.

The slowest hand in slow-hand history.

The slowest hand in slow-hand history.

Denny’s children’s menu featured instructions for a game called “Bacon-Lettuce-Tomato,” a variation of rock-paper-scissors which seems pointless as it’s obvious to me at least that bacon beats just about everything with exception of fine sushi and lasagna. It took a few rounds of explanations for Madison to understand the concept of Jun-Ken-Po, but eventually, she got it. She started off with an odds-defying 5-loss streak against me. My friend Brett once said of my style “you always pick rock.” Well, as right as he was, I kept always throwing rock because because I figured he knew that I knew so he assumed I would change, so I figured that I wouldn’t change. Part of it was spite, part strategy, and since Brett knows me as well as anyone, he kept throwing paper. Eff him. Anyway, as Madison got the hang of it, we had to next battle Madison’s extremely slow-hand which some might describe as “waiting to see what the other person throws before making up her mind.” Also, her scissors always seem to have three blades.

Who scoops strawberry jam on their bacon before eating it?

Who scoops strawberry jam on their bacon before eating it?

"I do!"

“I do!”

Her debut at Jun-Ken-Po wasn’t even the most jarring development at dinner. Lynnette split her Bacon Breakfast Bonanza Meal (or something like that) with Madison. She ate the hash browns like pasta. Whatever. Then she did something I’ve never seen her do: she broke her bacon strips into little pieces. Usually, she clings to her bacon strips the way one would hold a popsicle or lollypop, taking bites off the top end until popping the last bit into her mouth. So as she sat there deconstructing bacon, I silently wondered what the hell she was doing. I don’t know how or where she got this idea, but she started dipping her bacon in to the little container of strawberry jam. “Mmmm!” she said. “Really?” I asked. “It’s so, so good,” Madison replied, with the same inflection Lynnette uses whenever she’s emoting about one of her 138 favorite snacks. To compound matters, Madison did a little dance – just like her mother –  after every bite of strawberry jammed bacon. Everyone says she looks like Lynnette, and sure, aside from the thick eyebrows and pale skin, they’re probably right. But it’s another thing entirely when she behaves like Lynnette and I am offered a glimpse of what it might be like to live with two Lynnettes.

Someone couldn't pull herself away from dessert long enough to take a picture.

Someone couldn’t pull herself away from dessert long enough to take a picture.

I may have mentioned bacon intermittently over the course of this post. Well, that’s not by mistake. Apparently, Denny’s is in the middle of Bacon Fest or Bacontopia or Bacon-o-rama or Baconocity or something like that. They’re featuring of limited time menu of bacon-centric items, including the dessert we ordered. It was bacon on top of caramel syrup on top of vanilla ice cream on top of a brownie. I believe the word is “decadent.” As my friend Ron might have said long ago, “That’s obese, playah.” Lynnette scooped a healthy portion into Mad’s mouth. “Is it good?” Lynnette asked. Mad couldn’t speak for the dessert in her mouth. I think she enjoyed it, though. It might have been the simple nod. It might have been her cocaine eyeballs.

"That's a fake Honey."

“That’s a fake Honey.”

As I said, Madison’s feeling a little under the weather. She stayed home from school with Lynnette today. As we made our way through Target, Madison lay in the wagon covered by Lynnette’s sweater. That is until we were in sniffing distance of the toys. “Where are we going next, dad?” Madison asked. This is about as subtle as my daughter can be. Like always, our circuit around the store takes us to the baby toys first. We saw the most recent iteration of Madison’s Glow Worm, which is about two design changes removed from Madison’s two remaining Honeys. Mad’s disdain for any Honey not in the style of her own brings me glee. It’s the same kind of snobbish condescending I can display from time to time in situations like when my students try to impress me with their knowledge of super heroes. Please. Author’s Note: I feel that to maintain the integrity of this blog, I have to admit that I sneered and lifted my right hand into a stop sign immediately after typing “Please” in the last sentence. “Hold this,” I said, holding out the Fake Honey to Mad. “I won’t,” she said. I laughed. “Just for me,” I said. She took it reluctantly. “Okay, I’m going to take your picture,” I said. She put on a quarter-hearted smile. “No, it’s okay,” I said. “You can just leave your face how you really feel.” I think the results speak for themselves.

“Daaaaaaad,” Madison uttered as we continued through the girls’ toys. “Yes, Mad?” I asked. “We have to look for the wrestling belt,” she said. “THAT’S RIGHT!” I said. We wandered into the boys’ section and could not find a single faux championship strap. “It’s okay, dads, we can go get the ones at Walmart,” she said. I figured I might as well carpe the diem. “Mad? Do you want to go as wrestling friends with me this Halloween?” I asked. I gritted my teeth. “Yes,” she said. I know, I know, it’s only April. Maybe after we go to Disneyland, she’ll revert back to her Princessing/Fairying ways. But there’s a hope. Now I have to come back with a finishing move that includes both of us that we can can pull off on Lynnette. This is so exciting!


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