We went to the playground this evening for an unscheduled stop. After the kids played for an hour and a half or two hours, it was time for dinner. Amanda wisely took her family home for tacos and homemade guacamole. I suddenly felt so hungry I was ill. The thought of taking the time to cook dinner did not appeal to me. By the time we got to the car, I was on the verge of feeling shaky. But, at least it’s Thursday. It’s family day at McDonald’s. Hamburger Happy Meals for $1.50. We ordered 4 hamburger Happy Meals—plain of course—with fries and milks. For Scott, he got two double cheeseburgers—also plain. I got a fish sandwich. The kids began eating in the car. Scott and I waited till we got home. While settling in, the kids demanded their milks. I dug them out. Henry handed his to me. I opened it and seeing how full it was, I took a BIG gulp. It burned. I dashed the six feet to the sink, and began vomiting. It was horribly, Horribly, rancid. When I was able to breathe and speak again, I gasped to my gaping husband, “Rancid.” He quickly recalled the other three milks. Checking them, two were rancid, one was merely sour. I felt horrible. When my stomach seemed to have calmed a bit, I called McDonald’s. For two purposes: (1) they would want to stop handing out rancid milk, and (2) I just wasted money on 4 milks, 1 fish sandwich, and the equivalent of 1 small French fry.
The manager didn’t seem too concerned. Her name is Cynthia. I’ve encountered problems with her before. (She had scolded Daniel, who is 3, for bringing the Playland mats down through the tubes. These are 4 foot by 4 foot mats. David saw other kids doing it, and therefore had done it a few times. Daniel was innocent.) Cynthia maintained that there was no way she could know the milk was rancid. After all, she can’t see through the containers. As long as the dates were valid, she couldn’t know. Really, all I wanted from Cynthia was, “Wow! I’m so sorry! I’m going to go check the rest of the bottles right now. If you want to come back in tonight or tomorrow I will reimburse you the cost of the milks!”
Instead I got defensive, in no way apologetic, Cynthia. She did offer to refund the cost of the milks, or to substitute Cokes. I said to leave a note and I’d be in tomorrow. She took my name.
I sat back down. After resting for a bit, my stomach began churning again. I rushed to the bathroom. Dry heaves. They’re always fun, aren’t they? So, In the midst of my preparing to violently vomit, I hastily put the lid and seat of the toilet up. While doubled over the bowl, the seat came crashing down into my nose. I swore. It was beyond painful. When I finally pulled myself up off the floor, I looked in the mirror. There was a dent in my nose, and the whole thing was purple. I left the bathroom and wobbled straight to the freezer. I grabbed a half-used bag of popcorn kernels and held it on my nose.
Scott looked at me reclining on the couch with the popcorn. “Does your head still hurt?”
“No, I broke my nose.”
