Fat Day

Good Day to all, especially to all fathers. It's about 2 in the afternoon here, and I'm sure we've all sent, said or otherwise expressed our Father's Day greetings to those who have rightfully earned them. I chose an e-card with a clever animation spelling out words on a crossword puzzle. I thought it awfully appropriate for Pops Armstrong, an avid puzzle-wiz.

Also, not necessarily in recognition of anything, other than the fact that I had about a half pound of strawberries in my fridge getting ready to turn, I decided to make an experimental strawberry-apple tart. I pulled a quick and easy (though still messy) tart dough recipe off the web and improvised a filling of said strawberries and the only other type of fruit I had on hand, apples. The baking is done. I have not tasted it yet, so I cannot tell you if it succeeded in execution. But I can tell you the oven succeeded in heating my apartment up to an unbearable temperature.

To aid in the concluding of my first issue and to temporarily escape the other, I decided to head to the grocery store to pick up some vanilla ice cream to go on top of the tart (I took a picture of the tart on my phone but have not uploaded it to my PC yet. Perhaps, if I remember, I will later.) It was on the drive home from the store that I saw a greeting on a familiar chain restaurant's sign that would put to shame any words I could write or say to honor the fathers on their day, promising more than even my tasty tart could deliver.

The sign outside of Golden Corral, you see, was missing half its lights, burnt out. What I presume the intended message was supposed to read was: "Father's Day Endless Buffet."

What it did say was: "Fat Day End Buff."

They apparently are offering an all-day gorge-a-thon for all the hard-working fathers out there, while promising that all said eaters will end the period in fantastic physical shape. A perfect gift. Sorry we're not closer together, Pops, I'd like to challenge their claim.