DQ’d

It was a very warm summer afternoon, and the kids had been so well-behaved that I thought we all deserved a treat. So we stopped at the Dairy Queen on our walk home. It was deliciously cool inside, and we each ordered an ice cream cone. 1

The two pre-schoolers ran to choose a table, and I negotiated the double stroller (half filled with our groceries) to the little table across from theirs. I handed the cones around, with napkins and the reminder that spills were to be wiped, not licked, from the table. Basic manners. Besides that, sometimes the tables were not Mama’s idea of clean.2

Our sugared silence and mute enjoyment were eventually joined by a small, ambling visitor. Watching its scouting of her tabletop, my 4-year-old asked, “Mommy, is that fly making our table dirty?” How does any obsessive/compulsive germ-freak answer that one? “A little, dear; but the workers will clean the table after we leave.”3

Assuming the discussion was over, I returned to the baby and finishing our cone.4

The next thing I knew, my daughter was standing on top of her chair, looking to the service counter, and belting in an indignant, stadium-filling voice, “Hey, Lady! There’s a FLY on our table!!!”5

The buzz of casual conversation went dead-silent. Every customer eye was turned on our little group. Blushing like strawberry syrup, I decided we were done. I strapped the baby into his seat and began herding the girls toward the door. 6

Not an employee was in sight. Had they ducked under the counter in embarrassment, or bolted to the back room for a round of hysterical laughter? I didn’t wait to ask! The door swung open, then shut, on the quietest exit I think we have ever made!7