Now that it’s not a threat anymore, I can admit the story of the bomb scare that happened in downtown Pittsburgh this afternoon gave me quite the chuckle.
I’m not normally such a skeptic or anything, but when my sister called me to make sure my husband wasn’t downtown (He wasn’t. He’s suffering from either the flu or Mon-river-swimming-induced tuberculosis. [TOLD YOU SO]) and to tell me a man ran his car into a construction zone not far from the restaurant, knelt down to pray and walked away, and that his car was being checked for a bomb, I thought, “I bet this will be another pasta incident. A suspicious package that they’ll detonate only to find themselves covered with exploded bits of beefaroni or Spaghettios or something.”
When I read that after the man parked his car, he kissed the ground before running into McDonald’s, I thought, “Sounds like someone SERIOUSLY needed a Big Mac.”
I’ve been on a diet for eight days now. This is pretty much how I plan to act the next time I pull into a Chick-Fil-A parking lot.
You’ve been warned.