Last night T and I went to a little block party for celebrating golf week in Charlotte. As we were leaving we stopped by restaurant for a snack at the bar - just a simple order of fries for the man in his signature golf polo and the gal wearing orange. (Team Rickie, of course.) “With ranch, please.” “We don’t carry ranch.”
Shock. Hurt. Amazement.
Laughter (courtesy of T.)
There are a few Oklahoma staples I’ll never do without: starch on my jeans, responding to “what kind of coke do you want?” with “Dr. Pepper,” and ranch.
I need ranch on everything: wings, lasagna, pizza, fries…. salad.
It’s never occurred to me that this might be viewed as odd by the rest of the continental United States, or maybe even the globe.
No, you’re odd, world.