PDAs @ OCB

There is nothing more warming to my cold black heart than witnessing a horde of people (family? friends? a combination of both?) hugging one another outside the area's Old Country Buffet and knowing that each and everyone of them is overly-sated from the establishment's well-known All-You-Can-Eat smorgasbord-ian spread. Essentially each affectionate grapple is one stuffed-to-the-uvula humanoid squeezing another equally filled-to-the-molars biped in sort of post-chug-a-lunch love fest.

"I love you, Arlene. Glad you didn't pass on that third plate of country-fried steak."

(hug)

"Likewise, Jorge...I can still smell the emptied gravy boat contents on your lips and lapels."

(hug)

"Oh...it was cute when little Caitlin ate her first turkey leg!"

(hug)

"Grandma! That wasn't a (urp) TURKEY leg...That was a porkchop on a stick!!!"

(hug)

"I'm tellin' ya, Morton...you go through creamed corn like swine spillings through the Killing Floor grating."

(hug)

"Get outta here, Rick-ster...you know full (har) well that you got the crown to show yer King of Ham Alley."

(hug)

Yep.

Warms my heart like the inseams of a fat man's pants after a dash to the Lowfat Yogurt dispenser.

I could use more hugs in my life.

Sounds like it might be time to pencil in a weekly visit to the OCB to right this wrong.

T
(time to break my monogrammed bib out of storage from my years as a competitive eater)