Happy Meals and College

I have to say, I think I’ve now lost any remaining dignity that I had. Ordering a Happy Meal hamburger plain on a college campus with no kid in sight is embarrassing enough; having to ask for a different toy is utterly humiliating. Now, I will defend my right to order a Happy Meal no matter what my age is; I like the portion sizes (except for the drink) and somehow it doesn’t feel as wrong still eating plain hamburgers when it’s just a kid’s meal. Plus, they’re a whole lot cheaper.
But it is truly a lowering experience to request a different toy. Now, I may still be childish, child-like, and possibly immature, but it is NOT true that I order Happy Meals for the toys. Usually. As it so happens, if the toy seems decent then I drag it home and give it to Clara. Usually she’s indifferent, occasionally Julia will be impressed (case in point: Yoshi ball-popping figure), but it’s better than throwing it away. (Once, recently, the lady asked me if I wanted a toy. I said no, of course. What, am I supposed to admit to clinging with my every breath to a McDonald’s toy?) Anyhow, last week I found one of the Barbie Twelve Dancing Princesses in my kids meal. Dutifully, I brought it home to Clara.
Rarely has she more surprised me with an outpouring of complete and ecstatic happiness. She squealed in delight and jumped up and down hugging me. Now, even when I BUY her toys, I don’t get that response. Apparently she had so wanted one of those toys, but she hadn’t been taken to McDonalds, and by the time she had, they had moved on to “Flushed Away” toys. Of course I thoroughly enjoyed being the loved older sister, and I basked in her affection.
So, when it came time this week to go back to McDonalds, I ordered a happy meal and hoped fervently for a different princess (after all, there are twelve of them). Imagine my unpleasant shock when I opened the bag and found . . .a hot wheels toy. What to do? The lines were getting long (side note: this McDonalds really does provide “fast food” as they have lines to the door during the between-class rush) and I hated trying to get someone’s attention. Plus, there was that whole issue of a twenty-year-old asking for a Barbie happy meal toy. Embarrassment warred with the ego-boost I’d get from making Clara happy (I really am a very selfish person). I hesitated at the counter for a minute or two, then quickly asked for the toy when one of the workers had half a second. The exchange was made. I left with cheeks flaming, but a sense of accomplishment and triumphant.
Then I went to get a flu shot, and well, that’s a different story entirely.