It's always funny how whenever the thought of an Applebee's trip comes up, something inevitably goes wrong. In the past, it has been things like death in someone's family, lack of gasoline, bad tires, sickness, or quantum decomposition of the Applebee's restaurant itself.
This time, it was illness again. One member of the Applebee's party was potentially sick last week. To be safe, I suggested we wait until the weekend until we could be sure he was over his cough. Our trip was planned for Sunday. By Saturday, he was feeling like his old self again and I was happy for this. I mean, who wouldn't be? Steak burger. 'Nuff said, right?
Sunday. I call the guy shortly before we should be heading out because I haven't yet heard from him that day. Turns out his cough had come back like Bruce Willis with a vengeance. Figures. It's the Applebee's Curse, after all.
I suppose there is a bit of irony here as well, since by Monday it was clear what he had. He had caught that cold going around in this community. The irony here is that I'd already had it just a couple of weeks prior. I wouldn't have become sick again if we'd went like he had offered. Oh universe, how you hate me so.
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