Please don't let it be Ronald or another clown running the drive-thru.
I place my order, drive to the 1st window, paying with the faith that the food will be at least lukewarm and chewable.
The 2nd window regurgitates an arm holding out a bag. I grab it with a mumbled "havagooday".
I pull into an open parking space and grab one of the two wrappers in the bag.
It's warm. Almost hot.
God is good.
I rip open the wrapper to find a sideways burrito. Sideways. Honest.
It had to be the work of a senior moment or a quasi-awake high schooler.
How hard is it to fold a breakfast burrito along the longitudes? Standing tall and slim, and all tucked in.
This one sat on my lap, staring up from its wrapper, squat, stubby, and ill-tucked. Folded like a mutant cross between a taco and an envelope.
Like a new father trying to fold a cloth diaper.
Ewww. Not a mental picture you want before eating fast food.
Ugly or not, it's breakfast. Disgustedly, I brace myself for the first bite.
Huh?!
It's hot and fresh and . . . delicious! Not the usual contents but eggs that were moist, sausage that was chewable and cheese, all this golden cheese, warmly liquid instead of congealed, cold, rubbery adhesive.
Wow. Who wooda thought, eh?
I looked on the outside, letting it affect the way I perceived the inside. Oops, baby. Big oops.
Kinda like Samuel and David's oldest brother. The "longitude" looked good on Eliab, but he didn't have the right stuff inside.
David, runt of the litter, finally shows up.
Definitely a "latitude" type of kid.
And a world is impacted forever.
Talk about judging a burrito by its tortilla, huh?