Dan Walker: Eating Out With My Ex Wife

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Just read the damn story!

Submitted: July 31, 2013

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Submitted: July 31, 2013



I woke up this morning with a hankering for a Sonic cheeseburger and was quickly whisked away into that dark, frightening area of my brain filled with the painful, and sometimes traumatic experiences I shared with my ex wife. It's a terrible place I only visit on a purely involuntary basis. If a doctor were to examine my brain through a cat scan, this area devoted to my ex wife would come back looking something like a landfill for Satan.

Where was I? Oh yes, so I was lying alone in my bed a shell of my former self, tormented by the thought of a cheeseburger. I didn't used to look this bad. I haven't had my hair cut in months. My mullet has gotten too long in the back, which I hate because it starts getting wavy. The two arms poking out of my tank top and are almost entirely made up of skin and bone. As I look down toward my feet I see a steep hill of belly brought on by my years of drinking.

So I went with my wife to Sonic drive thru. I had a healthier frame back then, and I needed calories to support it. I ordered my regular meal: two super sonic cheeseburgers and a large order of tator tots. Me and the wife sat quietly ignoring one another as we ate our meals. If you've never been to a sonic it's a classic style drive thru where they bring your order to your car. The waiters and waitresses wear roller skates, it's a damn good time.

Well I was waiting for this hot ass waitress to come skating back around the corner and my focus on this was greater than my focus on where I was grabbing my food. “Give me back my tator tot,” said my ex wife. I looked down at my hand, and there was indeed a tator tot in my possession. I could not distinguish who rightfully owned the tot, so I ate it and looked back toward the corner of the restaurant.

“God damnit, that was my tator tot, Dan!” the pig cried out.

“Well here,” I said, as I thrusted my paper bag of tots toward her. “Does that make you happy.”

The answer to this question was, no. I caught the white flash of a plastic fork out of the corner of my eye as it made it's way for my thigh. The end of the fork broke immediately upon impact just leaving the handle which had developed a sharp, knife like point as it stabbed into my leg.

“Holy shit!” I cried.

“You deserve that.”

I looked at my wife with sudden humility. I removed the fork handle from my leg, pressed the button for the intercom, and calmly asked if they'd mind bringing us out a new fork. Not for any courtesy toward my wife, as much as I was hoping the hot ass chick would bring it out.



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