getting there doesn't always count

I had a chicken pot pie tonight

     I love chicken.  I love flaky crust.  I love creamed vegetables mixed together.  I liked the chicken pot pie.
     The problem is, it was a chicken pot pie!
     Zoo days are iffy for supper. We usually get a pizza, or Jimmy John's (at least until I read about the owner....which is making me rethink my sandwich tastes.  I love elephants.  No, not on a bun...alive and walking.)
     But I had a couple of stops to make...specifically Oak Brook, and the Container Store.  (You may remember my last attempt to go there ended with me being lost and parking  in front of a restaurant that only exists in Budapest, Hungary.)
     I bought a coat.   Obviously not at the Container Store.  It was $129.  But it was marked down 25 percent.  Plus I got another 15 per cent off as an educators' discount.  My total was $108.
     I thought nothing of it, (math was never a strong suit) paid, and left.  Walking down the path of life I thought:  $129 is close to $130.  Ten percent of 130 is 13.  So 20 percent is 26.  And half of 13 is 6 and a half...so my discount should have been at least......32, as in dollars.
     I also realized that might be a common core approach to math, but it is also the way most people approach the problem.
     I looked at the bill and did not see the 25 per cent markdown.  So I went back and they voided the first transaction and redid the sale.  Total:  $88.  I was happy.
     I was also happy thinking I was finally going to try the barbecue place in DeKalb.  Jackie does not necessarily like barbecue, so I was stopping to get her a sandwich, then I would go to the barbecue place in DeKalb.
     What to eat...ribs?  Chicken?  Pulled pork?
     I sat in traffic on 88.  Ribs.  I sat again in traffic on 88.  Pork might be good.  Traffic was really slow.   I can't figure that out.  Why does it stop when there is no accident, no construction, no impediments on the road?   People just stopped.  Several times.  Chicken.
     When I finally got to the barbecue place in DeKalb, my stomach was growling, my glands salivating and my mind made up:  RIBS!!
     They were closed.  7 p.m. on Friday night.  Closed.
     KFC was open.  So I got a chicken pot pie.
     It was ok.
     It just wasn't barbecued ribs.