Tonight, we went to Buffalo Wild Wings for what used to be 25¢ wings. It wasn’t that long ago: I was in college. Well, this shows you how out of control inflation has become: wings now cost 45¢ each. As a special price on Tuesday nights only. I am becoming that old woman who says “in my day, a candy bar cost a nickel.” But in actuality, in my day they cost a quarter (although you could find them 5 for $1 at Walgreen’s once a month).
Aren’t you glad BWs put what they consider to be a catchy marketing phrase on the wet naps? It made me imagine a giant sweaty guy wiping down his pits underneath his cut off T-shirt after polishing off two dozen hot wings. Then proceeding to wipe down his face with the same wet nap. Disgusting. Nothing turns me off wings like this wet nap cover. Except wing sauce. Actually, I hate wings regardless of this new wet nap packaging, but this makes me hate them even more. Oh my God, it’s happened. I hate everything already so all I can do from here is start hating current hates even more. This is out of control. I’m an über-hater.
We were at this wings place with a guy who is epileptic. I noticed over his shoulder an arcade game behind him with an “Epilepsy warning” listed across its screen. Now I know he couldn’t just turn around and break into a seizure, but it felt like I was living on the edge regardless. Like he was just 25¢ away from it and I could finally witness a seizure. My brother had one when I was in high school, but I was away at a track meet and have felt this whole time like I missed out on something.
Steve finally got our garage lights put up. It’s been nine months of nagging by me. And what I mean is he bought
Mr. Epilepsy’s his friend’s dinner in exchange for handyman services. I don’t care what method he uses to get it done, I just care that we reach the end result. My husband is so cunning and smart. That’s why I married him. That and for dual income. Because we all know neither candy bars or wings or arcade games still only cost a quarter.