Chick-fil-A ROCKS!

Driving through the night 8 hours from the Memphis airport to East Tennessee after flying all day wasn't my idea of a picnic. Then the familiar Chick-fil-A sign shone like a beacon on a stormy night. With no Chick-fil-A restaurants in my area of Cali, I crave the taste of their sandwiches, their fries, their lemonade, their ice cream . . . get the picture?

Trying not to squeal the tires turning off the freeway, I tore into Chick-fil-A with Katie in tow. She INSISTED on buying me a t-shirt along with the meal. Fine. I might as well own up to the whole "I'm a fan at the nerd level" idea.

After hunting around for a t-shirt, the helpful crew member alerted the night manager, who came out to give me grief. Yikes! It was Daniel Morgan, a friend from my old IBLP days, when I used to be his "Family Coordinator." This meant that when he was nothing more than a wee whipper-snapper, I was supposed to try to give him good counsel and sage advice while setting an example for him. Right.

We obviously graduated to Friend Level, and good thing, too, because this man now held in his hands my Chick-fil-A future and dreams. But would he fulfill them?

Done.

I won't tell you that he gave us TEN "Be Our Guest" cards (good for one free sandwich at any location) because that might get him in trouble OR make him look like a pushover. So, instead I'll just say that he HOOKED ME UP. No, you can't have his phone number. He's MY friend.

Maybe this Christmas vacation in East Tennesse isn't going to be so bad after all . . .