The Catfish Is King.

David Beard's Catfish King,
It's a lot like goin' home.


Are you singing along?


What? You don't know what I'm talking about?

That's the Catfish King theme song. Get with it, people.

So yesterday Remi got a hold of my computer. Really, she did. I know you think I probably typed as she dictated. But that couldn't be further from the truth. She is a prodigy. I'm not lying.


So after we left the zoo last week we were all hungry. Now, granted, if you look closely at us in those pictures you may be left with the distinct impression that it wouldn't hurt any of us to miss a few meals. But you would be wrong. It would hurt...a lot.


So off we go to Chik-fil-A because I'm pretty sure that's what you do if you live in the South, it's the summer and you have a toddler. Besides, I didn't have any more diapers or wipes on me and the sweet Lord in heaven knows you can find about 27 moms there carrying diaper bags. So off we go....


But OH NO!!! I just had to open my big, fat mouth and suggest, you guessed it - Catfish King.


I hadn't eaten at a Catfish King in ages and since I don't have IBS at all...no, uh-uh, not at all...I thought it would be just a wonderful thing to do. Just wonderful. All that grease. And salt. And grease.


And grease.


So we pull in and what to my wondering eyes do I behold? A salad bar! A real, live, open to the public, old-school, salad bar. With Bac-O's and those really little, square croutons. And iceberg lettuce - not the fancy stuff. Oh, yeah! I can totally eat healthy here.


I order the catfish platter.


Salad bar, not included.


I couldn't' help it y'all. I love fish. And it loves me. It just prefers not to be deep fried. Whereas I prefer it to.


Now, let me start by saying that there are five of us ladies and one little girl. Chances are, lovelier ladies you have not seen. We looked like someone they had just ambushed and thrown across a cop car on COPS.


But Catfish King?


It was hoppin'. I mean - HOPPIN'.


Let me tell ya, there was not a person over 72 in the entire place. And each and every one of them were sitting alone. Alllllll allllooonnneeee. Do you realize what this means?


Catfish King had become a pick-up joint.


No wonder my Granny said "yes" to the suggestion so quickly in the car.


Have you seen her? She's a babe.


I told her this might be her lucky day. But she just called me an "idiot" and told me to order for her while she went to sit down.


Sit down? Yeah, right. Scope the place is more like it.


We proceed with our lunch. I am feasting on deep-fried crap and my child is eating vegetables and lettuce and things like watermelon and carrot sticks (because God is playing a cruel, mean joke on me). When my daughter spots a lovely, older lady sitting at the booth just down from us.


She is alone.


Well, obviously. I mean, instead of the old men buying her drinks I think I saw the waitress keep carrying out things of tarter sauce and saying, "This is from the gentleman in the John Deere cap in the corner."


Flattering.


Now, at this point I am pretty invested in my catfish. Not to mention I'm on my 8th Mr. Pibb when Granny punches me and tells me, "Make her mind."
"Huh?"
"Make her mind."
"Make who mind."
"Your daughter. She is talking to people again."


And sure enough, I look over and there sits Remi, perched up in the booth across the table from this little old lady. Who seems genuinely pleased to have the company, I might add.


And I think to myself, how do you discipline a child for being friendly?
Obtrusive? Yes.
Bossy? Sure.
Rude? Absolutely.
But friendly? How do I do this?


About then I heard Remi say, "You gon' eat dat?" as she pointed to the ladies french fries.


Do you understand the gravity of this moment?


She's eating FRENCH FRIES!! She's my child again. And I squealed with delight at the fact that she was once again consuming things that are horrifically bad for her but that mommy fixes on a nightly basis.


And the world was whole again.


And yes, I did figure I best get my child down from there considering that sweet lady might have been lookin' to score and I figure these guys in Catfish King don't play. They see a lady with a kid - well, you can forget about it.


And she was looking so lovely and summery. It was only right that she leave there with a little tarter for her sauce.


(Note: See how I took a story and somehow made it all about the SAUCE? That's for you all...my saucy little "sits"tas. Ingenious, no?)