Sundays Are For Sebastian #263

Sebastian is my eleven-year-old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people. 

The boys and I are in a Fantasy Football league, so we decided to go to Buffalo Wild Wings where we could watch all of the games simultaneously. Before we left, we checked out the menu online. Sebastian decided he wanted to have wings, but he was not sure on the heat level–we had never been to the establishment and they have a rather intimidating number of choices (17 different “heats” from “Sweet” to “Blazin'”).

When we arrived, I suggested he go the safe route and opt for “mild.”

The wings came and he dove in. After about two bites, he started to complain about how hot they were. As he complained more and more, I came to the realization that he was a bit of a wimp. I told him to suck it up and just eat them since it was what he ordered.

A wing or two later, he started complaining again. Before I could tell him again to suck it up and eat them he says.

“Dad, I can’t feel my lips.”

It turned out that the server had misunderstood when he ordered. He said “mild” (the fourth lowest) but she thought he said “wild” (the second hottest).



About the drunken cyclist

I have been an occasional cycling tour guide in Europe for the past 20 years, visiting most of the wine regions of France. Through this "job" I developed a love for wine and the stories that often accompany the pulling of a cork. I live in Houston with my lovely wife and two wonderful sons.
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