Of course, when I got home and opened the bag (with scissors, no less-they used some sort of Vulcan mind meld to seal the bag and there was NO WAY to pull the bag apart at the seal), I learned that 'Buffalo' had a specific meaning, as in, flavored like spicy chicken wings dipped in ranch sauce. I was not amused. It's not bad. But it's not bodaciously cheesy, that's for sure.
Well, when I took my goods to the checkout to be scanned, the guy took the hot dogs, slid them over the magic glass, (BEEP), and put them in the bag. Then he looked at me and said, "Those are the best hot dogs ever!" I replied, "Well, they are the best you can buy in the store, that's for sure."
We referred to these, of course:
So tonight, I was headed home to fix myself two more Nathan's. Kathy wasn't going to be home for a while, so I was on my own for supper. It was with mouth-watering anticipation that I pulled into the left turn lane of the last big intersection on my way home. And across the intersection, headed the opposite direction from me was, of all things, this:
I don't think I'd want to drive a wienermobile for a living. On the other hand, it couldn't be as bad as a lot of jobs, come to think of it. But still, I couldn't help feeling sorry for the guy, being on the Oscar Meyer payroll, when I was headed home for Nathan's. I wish now I could have given him one.
He'd have to get a new job, but it'd be worth it.