We visit the local hot dog stand in our neighborhood almost every Saturday for lunch. Now for those of you who aren't familiar around here it's called, "I Dream of Weenie". They are in an old Volkswagon bus and perched up on a hill where the only seating is one picnic table and basket full of blankets that you lay out on the ground. Every day they have "Daily dream Weenie" that they will post on their sign out front.
Saturday we were there ordering our hotdogs and Serif kept pointing up saying, "hotdog!". The girls behind the window laughed at him and thought it was so cute that he kept saying it, so, I had to tell them this story:
Just about any time I take Woodland Street home from work and I've got the boy with me, we'll get to the 5-points intersection and he starts saying, "hotdog!". Then when we get right up on it, he gets louder as he excitedly points his finger with a fully extended arm and says, "HOTDOG!". Many times, there is even a little shimmy involved. Well, the past couple times I have driven by and this occurs, as soon as I pass it and Serif realizes we aren't going to stop, he balls! I feel so bad because the poor guy just gets heartbroken that we don't stop! He'll cry for a good 6 blocks until I mention that we're about to pass the fire station and see the fire truck. Then he calms down and starts looking for that. Then we're 2 blocks from home and everything's okay and by then he's focused on letting Helmut out and seeing Daddy.
So, after telling our story and receiving our lunch, we sat down to eat. As we were finishing up and throwing our trash away, the gal from the window hollers over to us from the "special" sign and says, "What's the hotdog boys name?". Jeff tells her and spells it out for her. She then proceeds to write their daily special on the board . . .
. . . nothing could make his Daddy more proud.
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