Shake...

After my 'summer break' (May to September is pushing it a bit, I know) I returned to Pilates on Tuesday night.  This class was a new one with my teacher, organised by one of my colleagues at Binland, and would be taking place in the Training Room once work was finished.

There were seven other females there of varying ages and I shuffled into the room and headed towards the front.  (I always go at the front as glasses and Pilates are not the best bedfellows).  The trouble was that other than one lady I didn't know anyone else in the room as they were all from our Head Office, rather than the back of beyond depot where I am based.

'Are you taking the class?' asked one young thing as I strolled down between the mats.  Shaking my head rapidly, I marvelled at how controlling my yoga pants must be to even make it feasible that I might actually know what I was doing.  'No no', I said, I'm from one of the depots'.  Of course, as most of them seemed to come from the accounts end of the business rather than the sharp end where bins are collected and waste is treated, this meant very little.  I'm sure that all of them were muttering between themselves wondering who I was.

Needless to say, the class involved rubber bands, semi-deflated balls and pain and I hobbled out of the Training Room an hour later a broken woman.  

And then came my downfall.  

McDonalds have a 'restaurant' opposite our Head Office, and knowing that the husband was having a particularly bad day, I called him and suggested I buy him a strawberry milkshake.  His favourite.

Well my idea went down very well and sitting in the car giving the order to the drive thru operator, the husband, who was still on hands free, piped up, 'And I'll also have a Hot 'n' Tasty'.  Operator looked at me.  'Is he talking to you still, or me now?'  

The Hot 'n' Tasty (extra bacon and go large) ordered very loudly over the hands free, the operator turned to me. 'And for you madam?'

'McChicken Sandwich and small fries and a medium strawberry milkshake',(you can't have a medium when there are only two choices.  Take note McDonald's) came the voice from the top right hand corner of my car.

Moving to the next window where the payment operator was located (same man, different job description), I handed over the money.

'Am I too late to order some extra bbq sauce', came the voice again.

I'm not proud of what I did next lovely readers, but I cut him off, apologising to the young man as he handed me my change.

Ten minutes later, as we finished off our sneaky takeaways in the kitchen, the husband turned to me mid milkshake slurp, and said, 'It's a shame we got cut off, I wanted to order a McFlurrie'.

I think my look said more than any number of thousand words ever could...