Mom Gets Banned From Denny's

Road trip to San Francisco.  Two boys, nine and thirteen, in the back seat, punching each other black and blue.  Daddy threatens to turn around and go home, the first in a series of idle threats.  I'm super cranky.  I'm extremely PMS.  The SJG still has a uterus.  Hubby and I have been up all night, thanks to the bad karma house next door (future home of the notorious party boys), back then, an assisted living facility.
In between the late-night whining and moaning of elderly residents, we're treated to loud backyard conversations in a foreign tongue around 3 a.m.  We leave so early, I haven't had my coffee yet.  Near Buttonwillow, I demand that we pull over.  This is a caffeine emergency.  We go to Denny's, where the service is non-existent and I can feel myself aging.  "I need coffee," I say for the 23rd time.  Hubby gives me a look.  The eldest makes fart noises, the youngest giggles uncontrollably.  I already sense this trip is a huge-ass mistake.  "What do I have to do to get some @#$%'n coffee?" I try flagging down a waitress.  Minutes of my life creep by.  The boys  arm-wrestle.  Hubby issues idle threat number two.  "Knock it off, or we're going home."  "@#$%!" I say, and get up from the table.  "Where are you going?" hubby asks.  I walk over to the coffee station, grab the coffee pot, and return to the table.  "You couldn't wait?" he asks.  "No," I say, and pour us each a cup.  The boys hurl menus at each other.  I would give anything to be anywhere but here.  Paris, maybe.  London?  

The manager walks over.  I'm still holding the coffee pot.  "May I have that?" he says.  "What?"  "The coffee pot."  "If I give it back, will I ever see it again?"  Hubby glares at me.  The boys kick each other under the table.  The manager tells me to hand over the coffee pot.  I do so, reluctantly.  "Do you think we could order our food some time today?"  "I'll send a waitress right over, ma'am."  "I won't hold my breath."  Off he goes.  Hubby looks at me.  "Are you going to be like this the whole trip?"  "Probably."  The boys pour sugar on the table.  I get up.  "Now where are you going?" hubby asks.  "I'm taking the Greyhound bus home."  It's my first idle threat, one of many I'll make in the coming days.  "Sit down," says hubby.  I sit.  The youngest looks worried.  "Can I come, too?"  "No," I say.  On our way out the door, I vow never to return to Denny's, in Buttonwillow or anywhere else.  The manager overhears.  "Can I have that in writing, mam'am?"  (This blog goes out to Kelly)