A Mistake

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It was 99 degrees in Kansas on Thursday and the feel-like temperature was 109.

I did a lot of driving and built up a huge sweat walking the jobs. 

I also skipped lunch, knowing that I could do dinner right. I had great Mexican on Wednesday and plans for ribs and brisket on Friday…

…so I had a decision to make.

Chinese? Steak? Pasta?

As I’m prone to do, I voted for the pasta and then I researched it.

Picked the joint.

Settled in and the salad was good. The bruschetta sucked.

“Uh-oh.”

I ordered a Mediterranean pasta dish with a side of Italian Sausage.

The sausage looked like Oscar Meyer made it.

Ah well, you can’t ruin pasta, right?

It never looked right.

I tried it.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I know this is penne, but it doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s wheat pasta,” the waitress said. “I thought you asked for it.”

“What?”

“You didn’t ask for wheat?”

“I would NEVER ask for wheat.”

“I can bring you a new dish.”

I know that a lot of people eat wheat pasta. They say it’s better for you. I had never tried it.

“Is it much different?” I asked.

“You can’t even tell the difference,” she said. 

“I’ll give it a go,” I said.

Couple of things:

1). Wheat pasta should NOT be a thing.

2). I could’ve made a better white sauce in my sleep.

3). Those should not be ever referred to as Italian sausage.

“Can’t finish?” The waitress asked.

“Nah, I’m gonna need a box.”

She boxed it up nice. Even packed a couple of bread sticks.

I tossed all of it into the garbage can just outside the front door.

Yuck.

Wheat pasta!

That’s a sin.

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