Night Out With the Boys

Me to the Jock: "When was the last time you had an eye exam?"
Jock: "Those screenings at school?"
Me to the Nestling: Same Question.
Nestling: Same Answer.

Wrong.

So off we went to the eye doctor this afternoon. The appointments were timed so that we could hit Walmart for any last minute things they might still need for college and still get to Cheeburger Cheeburger for an early-ish dinner.

The fun began with signing in at the eye doctor. I was handed two forms to complete, one for each of them, which I promptly handed over to them. Hey; they're college kids; it's not supposed to be asking too much for them to read and write. They came to the line asking them for permission to use dilating drops. They were leery, but I talked them into it. One good dilated exam just to make sure everything was ok wouldn't hurt them. Later the joke was on them when I discovered they didn't actually understand what "dilating their eyes" meant. The Jock's left eye took a bit longer than his right to dilate, cracking up his brother. Trying to show off, I said, "Did you know there is a word for unequal pupils?" Jock's answer, "Freak?"

They both checked out fine, so off we headed to Walmart. I was thrilled when my suggestion for paper bowls and plasticware for eating (instead of microwaveable dishes that would need to be washed, in bathroom sinks, without disposals, that would quickly clog from the little bits of food left on everyone's dishes) was accepted. The Jock revealed that he needed hangers. The Jock also bestowed on the Nestling the wisdom that having some kind of food in the room was a Good Idea. Crackers, soda, goldfish, and ramen noodles (10 cents a package; a case of 24 was still a bargain) found themselves mingling with the paper plates and plastic forks in the cart.

CheeburgerCheeburger was an experience. Think 50's diner with ridiculously sized burgers. (From the menu: "There are no hamburgers on our menu. However our chefs have been known to make a Cheeburger without cheese, if you're sure that's what you really want. No cheese, no extra charge.") The kicker is "The Pounder"; actually 20 oz of beef before cooking. If you finish it by yourself, you get your picture put on the wall. The Jock, who has accomplished this gastronomic feat twice so far this summer, went for a three-peat.

Watching him eat this freakishly oversized burger was like watching an artisan at work. Much of the time it was held upside down, as the bottom bun was thinner, smaller and soggier. The meat threatened to fragment, but he held on to it -- how else -- manfully. Bite by bite, he put away this ridiculous hunk of dead cow interspersed with mouthfuls of really scrumptious fries. The vanilla shake I had was somewhere between awesome and amazing, though the Jock drank only water. When he was down to a chunk about 5 cm in diameter, the waitress came and said, "It looks like you're going to finish it, so I'll go get the camera." Whereupon he stuck the entire rest of the burger into his mouth. Chewed. And swallowed it. Didn't even belch. Although I barely finished a burger about one quarter the size of that monstrosity, I shared vicariously in his accomplishment.

The rest of the evening was filled with a trip to the grocery store, Costco and the storage locker ("Looks like I do need the microwave that's in there after all.") Things are getting pulled together for the Excellent Adventure that is this weekend: the tossing of everyone out of the nest. There is little to no anxiety about their ability to fly. I'm looking forward to watching them soar.

Far away.

And stay there.

At least until I finally get the house cleaned up.