So cute and true!

"So, a couple of friends and I went and grabbed lunch at chick-fil-a a couple of weeks ago. It was delightful. We spent roughly $20 a piece, and our kids ran in and out of the play area barefoot and stinky and begged us for ice cream, to which we responded "not until you finish your nuggets," to which they responded with a whine, and then ran off again like a bolt of crazy energy. One friend had to climb into the play tubes a few times to save her 22-month-old, but it was still worth every penny. Every. Single. One. Even though we were all wearing stretchy workout pants and headbands to hide our greasy hair, the staff still refilled our sweet tea. With a smile. And extra ice. And nobody stared when our kids screamed and squealed and acted like tiny fools. And everyone said "My pleasure," even when they had to sweep the mess of crumbs off the tile floor that our precious tyrants left behind.

I just love that place. The only way they could make it better, in my opinion, is to add babysitters, but I won't push too hard for that. I'll leave that one alone. Because, I dunno. Maybe that's a lot to ask of an establishment that sells $6 spicy chicken sandwiches out of paper bags and plastic trays. Maybe. Or maybe I'll write a letter, I don't know. I need to mull that decision over.

So anyways, we are eating. And I look at the half-eaten dipping sauces spread out on the table before us. I have chick-fil-a sauce, because, let's be honest, it's the best. Someone else has Polynesian, and someone else has good ole, classic ketchup.

And I laughed, because, 1. How could everyone not like the chick-fil-a sauce?!?!? I mean, seriously and 2. It reminded me that everyone is different, and everyone chooses differently, and what everyone needs varies. So I probably shouldn't take it so dadgum personally when someone doesn't like me, when someone doesn't want to be my best friend, when I feel left out or excluded. I mean...I can't do it. I can't be everyone's chi