French Choice

We stopped at Fresh Choice in Gilroy on our trip back from LA. This is the boys' favorite place of all time, so it was like a food Disneyland after the real Disneyland. When we realized we'd hit Gilroy at dinner time we broke the news.

Us: "W, in an hour we're stopping for dinner."

W: "Where?"

Us: "Fresh Choice!"

W: "YES. I'm so ready for something healthy, no more french fries, i'll have chicken."

Us: "Hmmm, but Fresh Choice is mostly noodles and veggies and pizza and ice cream."

W: "Right. No chicken. That's okay. I'll have all kinds of healthy stuff, like they have at French Choice. I'm tired of not healthy stuff. I want to be strong and play football. Maybe I don't need dessert today."

(Ah, if only we had been about to stop at a little sidewalk cafe called French Choice. I could have used a glass of Bordeaux, some brie and baguette, and a little soft music at that point. Instead, we ended up gorging ourselves on wilted broccoli and those damn gingerbread muffins and honey butter. Then B took a head dive in the handicapped stall in the women's room after slipping on spilled over toilet "stuff". He rode home naked but for his freshly changed diaper.)

Us: (Disbelief). "Sure you don't. That would be great. But they do have the soft serve and sprinkles..."

W: "Okay. Tomorrow I don't need dessert."