Last night Eia and I drove up to this mall that's a little further away than our regular mall, but has a great movie theatre. Sometimes we choose to go to this theatre over our normal one because the mall it's attached to ALSO has a food court that has a Hot Dog on a Stick.
Before you judge me for being gross, have you ever BEEN to Hot Dog on a Stick? Hand dipped corndogs. Just think about it. They're so delicious! And a treat, since we don't get them very often. Eia and I like to consider ourselves a sort of corndog connoisseur, often judging the various types sold at streetfairs (which we always buy). But every now and then we indulge in Hot Dog on a Stick, because it's reliable, it's cheap, and you don't have to worry about running into any scary clowns or people trying to sell you balloons shaped like dolphins.
The reason I bring this up at all is because yesterday, upon arriving at the food court, we ordered our usual. I mentioned casually that we made the trip specifically for the corndogs, since it's not exactly down the street for us.
The girl in the funny hat behind the counter said, "Good thing you came today then, as it's our last day."
It took me a few moments to process the words being said to me. "Your - but - what? Your last day? Like, ever?"
She nodded sadly. "We can't afford to pay the rising mall rental space fees. Would you like a free lemonade?"
I was in such shock at not only the fact that my favorite foodcourt establishment was closing, but that we happened to, on whim, show up on their very last day of operation.
"We have other locations! Auburn... Portland... Alaska," she tried to console us. Alaska? ALASKA? Yes, I am going to FLY up to ALASKA for a corndog. Not helpful.
So Eia and I ate our corndogs in somber memorium of the good times we've shared over the breaded hotdogs. Guess it's back to street fair scouting for us. I even sent a complaining tweet to the mall. A sort of "how could you!" cry to the establishment that was taking our corndogs from us.
So I'm sad. Not to mention the movie we went to see, The Art of Getting By, was bland in all senses of the word. Which is a shame, because I adore Freddie Highmore.
And that was my Sunday.
Flights taken: 13
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