Armidillos getting it on...and on...and on...

My husband insists that I'm immature but I challenge any of you (living outside the Continental SouthWest) to walk from your front door and poll the first twenty people you encounter to determine if any of them had ever witnessed an armorous encounter between two enthusiastic armidillos. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine, upon waking yesterday morning, that I would witness something like that as I joined Brad for his workday, culminating in a trip to the Syracuse Zoo.

After poking at an octopus ("Did you read the sign," Brad sighed, pointing to the Please Do Not Tap On The Glass notice. I nodded, attempting to prod a tentacle off the window), unsuccessfully trying to convice an adament six-year-old that the Madagascan Fossa was not, in fact, a rat, and marveling at the curiously large herd of white-lipped deer, we'd worked up a ravenous appetite, ending up at an "eating" establishment that Brad later dubbed "The Brown Barn."

We joined the horde of hungry humans in line with our little lunch trays before being herded over to the bountiful buffets. Overwhelmed with the abundance of mediocre meals awaiting my inspection, I wove my way around my fellow feasters. Balancing a plate of mashed potatoes topped with gravy and leseur baby peas, macaroni and cheese, a slice of bacon, a rice krispie treat and some sesame chicken, I arrived at my booth to re-join my husband. "How is it," he asked, enjoying his uninterrupted view of the serengeti of side dishes. "This bacon is a wonder," I remarked, brandishing it like a wand, "Its outside is coated with a thick layer of grease while inside it is cooked to the point of immediate disintegration." I began to construct a laundry list of complaints. "But aren't leseur baby peas suppose to be mealy," Brad interrupted before I found out that the chocolate fountain had been dismantled. Fortunately, my attention was distracted by a rat-tailed eight-year-old who had forgone anything that even remotely resembled a vegetable and was busy eating his way through the dessert buffet station. This chocolate-covered child was almost as traumatized as me when he learned that "The Brown Barn" was out of pink cotton candy but he maturely settled for blue. Apparently, it also makes a great facial mask. If the food wasn't enough to make me lose my appetite, my fuzzy-faced friend made certain to seal the deal.

It's just funny that, when you wake up in the morning, you have no idea how your day is going to play out.  Can it be considered a good day when the highpoint was a pair of armorous armidillos? Or should you just call it a wrap when you decline to eat your twelve dollars worth of food and instead decide to revel in the realization that pre-packaged snacks await you at home? Either way, though, I look forward to what tomorrow brings.