Can't Bury 'Em Under the Porch...

Last night I took my son for dinner at Texas Roadhouse, the local steak eatery, to celebrate him surviving finals week. My daughter works there and we sat in her section.

Roadhouse is one of those places where the waitstaff will gather around your table and sing at the top of their lungs if it's your birthday, and they've got a saddle on a sawhorse for the kids to get their picture taken on.

Any of you see where I'm going with this yet? LOL

I'm sitting there enjoying my Killer Ribs and mashed potatoes, when suddenly a posse of six, black-shirted waiters and waitress descends upon my table, saddle/sawhorse in tow. Led, of course, by my red-headed daughter. They plunk the saddle down next to my table and refuse to go away until I slide out of the booth and get on it.

Once I'm comfortably (?) seated, my daughter screams across the restaurant, "Hey y'all, this is my Mom and she just published her book! Can I get a big ol' YEE HAW?" By this time my face is red, and my son is laughing so hard he's falling off his chair. (It taks so little to amuse a 15-year-old.)

After the obligatory yee haw, I was released and I crawled back into the booth, already plotting my revenge. Oh yes, she knows it's coming. Sometime, somewhere. Muaahahahaaa.

Actually, it's nice that she's so proud of me. And at least she didn't scream that I'd just published a trashy romance, or a spanking book. LOL