Poor parenting is its own punishment

Matt called me the other night to let me know he was going out with friends after work. I immediately seized upon this opportunity to shirk any nutritional responsibility for my kiddos.

At the McDonald's drive-thru I bought a salad for myself, but tossed my kids to the dietary wolves and ordered them up a mess of nuggets, fries, and the like. That's right. Screw their cholesterol levels!

A bit of instant karma awaited me as I pulled around to the first window where we learned the teen who had taken our order suffered from a most unfortunate acne affliction. Most unfortunate. I did the polite thing, smiled, said thank you, pretended not to notice the dermatological catastrophe before me.

That's when Max shouted from the back seat, "What did that mosquito do to your FACE?!"

I smiled sheepishly, apologized, returned to facing forward, and rolled up the window before Max could follow-up with another probing question.

We got our food from the next window, pulled away, and then discovered Max's cheeseburger (no pickles) had not made it into his Happy Meal. Making our return trip to the drive-thru, I told Max all about teenage acne, that it was most likely uncomfortable and a little embarrassing to the kid who took our money, and we don't want to talk about it in a way that might make him feel bad. Max agreed to say nothing when we saw him again.

During the awkward return encounter with the kid at the window, I explained our pickle-less cheeseburger quandary, and he told us to go ahead to the second window. Just before I could pull away, Max proudly proclaimed, "See mom! I didn't say anything about his pimples!"