I'm lovin' it too much...
So I've got about 97 cents in my PayPal account, right? And I'm trolling the net to find sites that pay bloggers. Thanks to this supermom of 7 whose blog post hipped me to a bunch of "get paid to blog" sites, I learned about this Mickey D's deal from CREAMaid, who will pay me (hopefully) a handsome 10 bucks pretty quickly (I pray) to said nearly empty PayPal account.
It's about ol' McDonalds, and boy do I have a story about them to post. You see, every day that I pick up my son from school he's usually famished, picky eater that he is, from only snacking on the lunch I lovingly pack him each day.
"Can I have a Happy Meal?" he'll sometimes ask before even saying hello.
"Okay," I'll say on the days when my checking account is flush, as it was today.
Thankfully, this Mickey D's sits right next to his school. But I started avoiding it because there's this supercute guy that works the drive-thru there that I -- as a married lady -- didn't want to get to know any better. A bit of "girding your loins" type of deal.
Anyhoo, I remember the first time he said anything to me other than the standard server fare. "Your receipt will be at the first window..." he said, glancing out over to me from his seated position and softly intoned: "...but then again you already know that."
"What?" I answered, then pulled away with a smile inside.
I started talking my son into going to Burger King, Wendy's or even the other McDonalds farther across town that I love. (No cute guy there.) When Cute Guy from Mickey D's appeared in front of me one day in a raggedy van with some kind of magenta magnetic ribbon that said something about liking girls, I resisted looking up the website he had listed next to it.
But other days, like yesterday, I give up fighting the good fight. I drive to the order board. I know he knows me by voice and order items. I smack my Body Shop lip gloss together. I check my hair weave. I cringe each time he calls me ma'am.
I peg him to be around 28 or so. He's one of those really light-skinned guys that puts you in mind of my dad during his glory days of "splendor in the grass, glory in the flower." (Doesn't he look cute with Mommy in their wedding photo? But oh...how much body language speaks of the trouble ahead.)
But I digress, as usual. McCutie and I have had the chance to chat more than ever in the past two days. There was the lull as the debit card machines were down and I drove off without my McFood because I rarely carry McCash. Then there was a stomach surge from eye connection and thumb touch as his hairy McArm handed me a pen and form to write my name on for my one dollar donation to hurting kids.
Maybe he finally expected to know my name...or, if I was like that boldly flirting lady in that drive-up dry cleaners commercial...my phone number. But, even in my wild-and-flirty 20s I didn't chase guys (though my hubby will tell you differently), I set the red-dress trap and let them come to me.
I didn't write my name, nor the precious 7 digits. Only the motto that bespeaks of the most important revelation in my 37-year-old life: Jesus loves you.
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