This entry was brought about by a picture I recently saw on Facebook. Let me start by saying that I have a question. More than one, actually. Let me preface these questions by first sharing an experience I had many years ago. My first real girlfriend’s name was Wendy. I was 17 and she was 15 when we went on our first date. We loaded up in my green 1972 LTD, it was actually the family car as we couldn’t afford to buy me a car of my own, and away we went to see a movie at the now defunct Twin Oaks Four. Is there even such a thing as a movie theater complex with less than 77 separate theaters anymore? My goodness. I love them but when a theater can be mistaken for Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta you know it’s BIG! Let’s get some moving sidewalks in there, people. I’ve been in some where I have to use my Garmin GPS just to find my movie. I digress. I forget what movie we went to see but I’m confident that some combination of Molly Ringwald, Emilio Estevez, Judd Nelson, Anthony Michael Hall, and Ally Sheedy were in it. Digression again. Anyway…
If you ever went to the Twin Oaks Four, you know that there was an ice cream shop next door. We got to the theater early, bought our tickets, and had a little time to kill before the movie started so we decided to get some ice cream and a drink. We ordered a sundae to share and rather than share a drink, I ordered us both large drinks. After all, I wanted to impress her on this very important first date. The problem was that the cup the large drink came in held enough soda, or sodie-water as my dad says, to quench the thirst of the entire 101st Airborne Division. As if teenagers on a first date aren’t nervous and self-conscious enough as it is, drinking Sprite from a 5-gallon bucket only served to exacerbate matters. I know everyone was laughing and saying, “Look at that poor sap. He forced his date to get the giant drink. A common error on a first date. Bless his poor, dumb heart.” To make matters even worse she had told me that she only wanted a small drink but I, the big spender, insisted we both get larges. Three years later she would dump me for a guy who knew how to work on cars. The breakup was due in no small part to what I now refer to as The Great Ice Cream Shop Faux Pas of ’85. I’m sure it had nothing to do with my unbearable insecurity which resulted in my asking her every 15 minutes or so if she was going to break up with me. I haven’t had a large drink of any sort for almost 26 years. One can’t be too careful with these things.
I realize I took you around the world for this, but here is what I want to know: those of you who enjoy the occasional margarita at one of the countless Mexican eateries in your town, do you ever feel like everyone is looking at you simply because of the sheer size and amount of the drink in front of you? Isn’t the giant margarita overkill or do you get more for less money with the fishbowl? What exactly is the allure of the mega-margarita?
Inquiring minds want to know. At least mine does.