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“I have to see a thing a thousand times before I see it once.” 
                                                                                        - Thomas Wolfe, You Can't Go Home Again

It's finally Wednesday. When I was a little kid in Bedford Hts., Ohio that often meant my big brothers taking me to get the three-piece dinner special at Mr. Chicken. I don't know why they had a Humpday special, but cheap chicken was only on Wednesdays. It was painted on the outside wall of the building in case you forgot. I loved it. My dad didn't. He thought it was junk. He especially hated the pasty, instant mashed potatoes. They were my favorite. I even remember having pneumonia in the fourth grade and not being able to eat. My mom said she would get me anything I thought I could keep down. So I sent her for - you guessed it, Mr. Chicken. 

Today I was helping my mom around the house and lunch time arrived. I headed out to get the chicken. The smell - intoxicating. The drive home filled with the exuberance only manifested by the promise of deep fried goodness. Then it happened. Yuck. It was greasy. The biscuit was dry. The beloved mashed potatoes were ice cold in the middle. WHHYYYYYYY! You got me Mr. Chicken. I'm your April Fool.

So can you ever go home again? Is this the way the chicken always tasted? Has Mr. Chicken gone down hill? Or have I just grown up? Did the donuts at Dunkin' Donuts shrink? Or do I just remember the size of them in relation to my six-year-old hands? Was Benny Hill really that funny? Why did I like Scooby Doo so much?

This is all very confusing. Luckily my cousin found my long, lost class ring in a box of costume jewelry today. It still fits. All that chicken didn't produce a sausage finger. Yeah. Some things never change. Or was I just fat in high school?