So everyone could choose a sandwich that was under a dollar which meant a hamburger or a cheeseburger, and we'd get one order of fries to share. The Mom would count the fries out and divide them five ways, which amounted to four or five each. Woo hoo. yrmama liked just ketchup and pickles, the others were all more daring, onion bits and mustard too. The works. Later, if we were lucky, there'd be a stop at the day old bread store to pick a Hostess fruit pie (cherry, apple or blueberry) from the big bin. Along with bread the mom would get a box of Ding Dongs or Ho Hos or Twinkies for the rest of the week.
We always ate sitting in the car in the parking lot, but someone had to go in and place the order at the counter. The mom didn't like to go. The dad had no say.
"yrmama, it's your turn."
"No thanks." yrmama was maybe eight, or ten.
"But why not? It's easy. And it's good practice, you just say..."
"No." There was no way. yrmama's head would pop off. She'd rather go without lunch.
"But that's so silly. Don't be so shy."
"I don't want to." Fine, yrmama was shy, but she had better social skills than anyone else in the family. That didn't mean she would fall for being forced to walk into Sandy's alone, and speak for the whole family in front of all those strangers. Town people. Regular people.
"You do it," said the dad to the mom.
"You do it," the mom said to the older brother.
"No! Why should I have to do it?" the older brother would protest as he got out of the car clutching a few crumpled, sweaty dollar bills. He secretly loved it. Before he closed the door he'd add, "yrmama can't do it because she's too shy."
While the dad nursed customary annoyance the mom would sigh in admiration at her nearly perfect son.
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