Last Friday, after gymnastics, MP and I went out to lunch with her BFF Gigi and Gigi’s mom (also my friend).
We went to the usual place. It had changed a bit over the past few weeks.
At this point, I’m wondering what planet we’ve landed on.
Here’s MP enjoying the leather couch. Note the perilously perched sculpture just begging to be tipped over. I give it two months.
You gotta be freakin’ kidding.
Yeah Baby. My McDonald’s has a leather couch.
Apparently Ronald’s had a little work done. Classin’ the joint up.
Where’s the red and yellow decor? The adjoining plastic booths that rock and jar when customers shift in their seats behind you? Where’s my Mickie D’s? What’s the world coming to?
The McDonald’s of my adolescence was THE place to go weekend nights. Situated on the outermost corner of a large shopping center parking lot, it served as a roundabout for Saturday Night Main St. Cruisers. Countless summer nights were spent on that hot pavement, bounding barefoot from car to car. Looking back, I realize our idea of entertainment reflected just how untouched by the world-at-large we really were.
It was wonderful.
We interrupt this post to puke.
How very Happy Days, MommyPie.
I especially like the part where you fail to mention the ginormous amount of B&J Wine Coolers consumed on those hot summer nights. Mmm hmm. Continue.
It didn’t last.
Time marches on, without so much as a backward glance at those carefree summer nights that have, now without a doubt, been forever relegated to the collective memory of the class of ’86.
And now … we have leather.
Here’s a corner in the new, upscale PlayLand area — that’s Gigi’s mom relaxing in the conversation pit. As I sat down in the leather chair beside her, I couldn’t help but pity the poor shmos who were going to have to dig smashed fries and caramel goo out of its cracks.
At least the foliage is still fake.
And the piece de resistance?
The lovely water feature highlighting the trash receptacles.
It just ain’t right.