Some days just don't go right.
Thursday was the day of my trillium photoshoot: the shoot that didn't produce great results (previous post).
Later, because as it was a nice day after a long run of not-so-nice days, we thought to take a drive. We decided that we might as well go as far as Arnprior and indulge in those Wes' Chips.
But wait a minute! About a quarter of the way there, the car developed what I can only describe as a loud whistle — a very loud whistle. That doesn't seem to be the right word to describe the noise, but I can't seem to find a better word.
After bearing with the screeching (still not the right word) for a few minutes we pulled off onto the side road, got out, walked around the car, and saw nothing amiss.
To be on the safe side, we decided that we should turn back toward home.
But there no noise on the first leg of the return trip.
Still, rather than resuming the journey, we stopped at a chip truck in a town on the way home and ordered their fries. I felt confident in ordering large because there seems to be a consistent size with whatever truck we visit. While I find that large is often a bit too large, we hadn't had lunch yet, so I though we should go big.
I ordered but was gobsmacked when I was asked to fork over eighteen dollars.
What the heck! Something wasn't right, but I had ordered them, so I dug out a twenty.
They were freaking huge, probably twice the size of large at most chip trucks. In fact, they would be closer to family size everywhere else.
We took them to the park and had a pleasant view on a pleasant day on the bank of OUR Mississippi River.
We consumed what we could and then took a big container of leftovers home. Sue, being a waste not, want not kind of gal brought home a bucketful to perhaps reheat later.
I am not sure that we will do that, however, because they were pretty greasy and felt leaden in our stomachs.
So that was my day — mediocre photoshoot, car noises, and expensive and greasy chips.
Ah well, I now have a memory and fodder for a blog post.