Mark KennedyCall it the cheeseburger conundrum.
On Sunday night, I was on my way home from Wal-Mart, and I called my wife to see if the boys wanted McDonald's.
When ordering fast food my goal is to do it as quickly and efficiently as possible. My perfect order takes two seconds: "No. 1 and a Diet Coke."
Simple. Elegant. Little margin for error. This is how Ronald McDonald wants it. See you at the first window ... please drive around.
I've noticed, over time, that some women have a different philosophy when it comes to ordering fast food. In a nutshell: They treat the kid with the headset like a waiter in a four-star restaurant.
Ordering can take forever as a suburban mom goes into deep detail about her children's food preferences, asks for substitutions on their Happy Meals and circles back to previously ordered items for slight revisions such as, "Oh, back to that No. 7 meal -- can I get those fries with light salt."
Light salt? Light salt!
Oh, sure. And would you like that Big Mac cooked medium-well with a side of au jus and a nice chardonnay? Oh, and would you also like a pearl necklace as your Happy Meal prize?
This man/woman thing came up on Sunday when my wife explained to me on the phone that my 13-year-old son wanted two plain double cheeseburgers, and that she wanted a McDouble sandwich with no pickles and no onions.
I quickly determined that what they really wanted was just a dollop of ketchup and a slice of American cheese shy of three plain double cheeseburgers, which is much easier for me to order.
"I hear what you're saying about the McDouble," I told my wife, flatly, "but I'm ordering three plain double cheeseburgers."
This is my idea of standing my ground.
My wife, having been down this road with me a time or two before, paused to register her disdain, but she did not persist.
Some things are simply not worth the fight. Had she decided to contest my order, she would have rightly pointed out that a McDouble, while similar to a double cheeseburger in basic architecture, is about a dollar cheaper.
I, in turn, would have explained that I lead a simple, frugal life and that my heart's fondest desire is to not have a long, confusing conversation with the order-taker at McDonald's.
When you've been married as long as we have, almost 20 years, you can have this complete conversation actually without saying a word -- three seconds of silence says it all.
I was punished for my bad attitude, however, by getting behind a suburban mom just like my wife in the drive-through line at McDonald's.
I had my window down, so I got to hear every syllable of the misery that followed. The mom ordered a Happy Meal for her kid, paused, then ordered fries.
"No, no, no," I thought. "He's going to add an extra order of fries to your order, but you actually want him to hold the sliced apples."
I was right. Two minutes later they were still dickering.
"But he won't eat sliced apples," the mom said of her young son, who I'm sure resented being dragged into the conversation.
"Then, for the love of Pete, throw the apples away," I thought. "Feed them to the dog, something. But do not sit in your car and argue with the voice coming out of the speaker about apples vs. fries."
Finally, after several minutes of negotiations, the two came to terms.
"Does that complete your order?" the order-taker said.
"Oh, no," the mom said, "I also need a large Coke with no ice."
"Of course you do," I thought. "And when the kid messes up your custom drink order and gives you a large Coke filled with ice, holy heck is going to break out."
As I get older, I have acquired an imaginary friend. This friend is a tiny voice in my head that arrives just as I am turning into a grumpy old man. As I was mulling the unfolding melodrama at McDonald's, my little voice reminded me that it's no bed of roses for the women behind me at the oil-change garage, either.
I could hear myself saying:
"Hey guys, I need a Durablend oil change today, but please don't pull the air filter, OK? I'm late for work, and I just replaced it last month.
"And, if you will, inflate the tires to 32 psi. I know that's a couple of pounds under manufacturer's recommendation, but I like the softer ride.
"And could you tell me if she's used much oil since last time, seems like she's usually about a half-quart low.
"And can you check the alignment on that right front headlamp, the beam seems to be shooting a little high."
OK, I'm going to shut up, now.
According to the little voice in my head, I've got some crow to eat.
Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645. Follow him on Twitter @TFPCOLUMNIST. Subscribe to his Facebook updates at www.facebook.com/mkennedycolumnist.