This morning I took myself out to Chick-Fil-A for breakfast, clutching my coupon for a free breakfast entree. Yes, I’m like that.
The coffee was delicious. The Chicken Minis were much too mini. The counter guy was an extremely happy human being. The place was immaculate. The piped-in music was classical. For those of you who don’t know, Chick-Fil-A is owned and heavily frequented by evangelical Christians.
There was only one other occupied table. Using my trained writer’s eye, I would guess they were a family unit: Parents in their late forties, mother dressed in nice slacks and dressy top, father in a suit. Their son, about 18, good-looking and extremely well-groomed, with spiky dark hair, perfectly gelled.
I didn’t mean to listen in, honest, but they raised their voices:
Mother: I don’t care, I am not going to visit.
Son: You shouldn’t take it so personally.
Mother: She looks like a lesbian.
Son: So I can’t see my sister?
Friends, that is verbatim. What did I do? I said a silent prayer then me and my coffee cup just got up and left.
If you happen to be that family, and you happen to read my blogging: Please stop. Listen to yourself. It won’t be long before you lose your son too. Good grooming notwithstanding.