Oink! Oink!

Lorraine was disappointed in her own dinner, a plateful of slow-smoked Polish sausage slices that arrived barely warm and were bland and vaguely rubbery. But we all liked Cynthia's sliced chicken breast, which was smoky and tender. And I snagged a couple of her crunchy, bangle-sized onion rings. No one said any of this was healthy food, mind you, particularly the platter of gooey cheese fries -- covered with a molten cheese crust and scoops of bacon bits -- that we'd all devoured before dinner. I'm telling you, those neon signs are potent!

I was stuffed by the end of the meal, but Lorraine insisted on dessert, offering to share the fudge brownie sundae and one of the fruit cobblers.

The menu listed four cobblers, which made me suspicious that they were frozen and heated to order -- and they were. But one taste of the tart cherry cobbler swayed my opinion in their favor. Served in an oversized sundae glass and doused with more than enough whipped cream for four people, the fruity concoction was as good as my grandmother's made-from-scratch variety. The brownie sundae was stacked so high with two gigantic scoops of vanilla ice cream, chocolate sauce and whipped cream that I couldn't find the actual brownie for the first several minutes.

Suddenly, I decided I couldn't eat another bite. Maybe somewhere in that restaurant, a light had gone on saying "Stop Eating." Or maybe it was just the discomfort of my jeans and shirt feeling so tight. Talk about a rib crib!

Maybe I should go back to being a picky eater again.