Holiday Hell: Bellying up to the Buffet

Whenever we go to the International Chain that Doesn't Support Skanky Socialites (affectionately called No-Ho's), I rarely, if ever, hit the breakfast buffet.

The last thing I need first thing in the morning is the fat and cholesterol table, and if I'm there, that's where I'll head to .

I have no impulse control, and I can snarf up bacon faster than Paris Hilton can say "That's Hot!"

What I really want in the morning is a half hour by myself to bathe, dress and run the same pot of coffee through the mini coffee maker 3 times to brew out the last little smidgeon of caffeine and flavor from those coffee pods. Then I'm ready to face the morning.

So hubby usually has breakfast duty.

But since it was just me and the boys, I had to accompany them to the buffet. There's absolutely no way I could let them go by themselves.

You know those people who always ask themselves What Would Jesus Do?

I'm always asking myself What Could Go Wrong?

Plenty, I tell you. Plenty!

I was standing at the buffet examining a big chafing dish full of yellow glop, and trying to figure out what in the heck it was.

Banana Pudding? Wallpaper Paste?

It was next to cheesy scrambled eggs. Could it be Hollandaise Sauce? But aren't Eggs Benedict made with poached eggs and English Muffins?

While my foot was tapping to perky oldies music that was piped into the dining room, I stirred it, and little slices of link sausage drifted to the top.

Hello there. Scratch Banana Pudding. I hope.

Over my shoulder, I heard a small voice say, "I'm sorry, Sir. There's nothing I can do about this."

Then a loud and strident bark, "Well, we'll just see about that!!"

I maneuvered myself behind the fruit and muffin table so I could be nosy and get a look at the big mouth. He, a tanned, late middle-aged asshat in golf attire seated next to his well-preserved and manicured wife, was dialing furiously into his cell phone, while a very petite, very young waitperson stood by and looked a little scared.

Oooh, what was the problem? A tooth in his oatmeal? A hair plug in his prune juice?

At that moment, Little Guy asked me if he could have a cheese danish AND a raspberry one. Eyeballing his piled-up plate, I lost a couple of minutes of the smackdown trying to convince the kid into choosing just one.

I have no idea who Big Mouth was calling. The front desk? The No-Ho Hotel Corporate office? Geraldo Rivera?

When I turned back, all I caught was, "Are you telling ME there's no way to change the station? Because I'm telling YOU that Nancy Sinatra singing These Boots are Made for Walking is completely inappropriate breakfast music!"

I sh*t you not. I almost dropped my plate. Bahahahaha!

BTW---the yellow glop is the hotel chain's version of sausage gravy. It consists of yellow chicken gravy and sliced up sausage links. Blech!