Back when my son was a wee little newborn who only slept when he was attached to my body in some way, preferably by the nipple, and I was sleeping four hours a day in 45 minute snatches, his father was the manager of a Jiffy Lube kind of store. It was not a Jiffy Lube, it was some other chain which I believe is out of business, probably because their name wasn't as catchy as Jiffy Lube (which it wasn't, 'cause I'll be damned if I can remember it). ANYWAY, this pseudo-Jiffy Lube was located in a strip mall where, among other assorted businesses, there was a Popeyes.
You may or may not remember this, eastern Massachusetts Adventurers, but in the mid-late 80s, Popeyes were popping up all over the place in our environs, before they all failed. Much like Krispy Kreme did twenty years later. I guess some things are not meant to be exported from the South. The difference, however, boys and girls, is that, unlike Krispy Kreme, Popeyes is fucking delicious. While in my uber-sleep deprived and burning 8 billion calories a day milk-producing state, my ex-husband would bring me home spicy fried chicken and biscuits for dinner. To this day, probably twenty years since I last tasted one, I still involuntarily drool at the thought of those biscuits. The combination of bad carbs and (probably trans)fat was a thing of beauty. In fact, when I tally in my head the things that were not douchebaggy about my then-future ex-husband, his providing me with those biscuits in my hour of need is right up at the top of the list. (Although, I'm pretty sure he was having an emotional, if not physical, affair with a girl who was the manager at one of the other strip mall stores, maybe even that Popeyes, though I've mercifully blocked that out too, much like the name of the faux Jiffy Lube, so I'm not sure my chicken and biscuits were totally without ulterior motive. Nevertheless, those biscuits were worth even infidelity if so.)
What brings this up today? Well! At some point, some year, in relationship to something, Mr Indemnity and I discussed Popeyes and our love thereof and the fact that there aren't any around here anymore. And our great great sadness. However we then at some point independently discovered that--holy shit!--there's one in Kenmore. And we have, for some period of time, discussed that goddamn it, we ought to go there. Well! The other thing we decided we ought to do is get Sox-Cubs tickets, because how often does that come around? And thus it will come to pass that this Sunday evening, we shall have Popeyes followed by Cubs baseball. The only thing that can spoil this is if our seats turn out to be behind a pole. Or whatever newly-promoted minor leaguer the Sox have pitching makes it a 23-4 game. Or the fact that it's an ESPN game means we'll be in the 7th inning only at 11pm (12am, if the score's high double digits). Or if it's freezing cold and raining like it's been all week. Or if those biscuits aren't as good as I remember.
A lot could go wrong, actually! I'm still really looking forward to it! It'll make up for all the agita Justin's caused me this week. (My yard is 2/3rds done, if you're counting.)
xoxo
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