Mr. Pickles

There is a restaurant in town, right on the corner of a busy intersection that has seen at least five turnovers since we've lived here. For some reason, whatever was there has not done very well. It's past lives include things like sushi and sandwiches and just when an owner would get settled in, pretty soon you'd see a "For Sale" sign in the window. It's baffled Lance and I since we moved here.

Except the current tenant is an extraordinary entrepreneur. Sure, they've moved in with the usual lunch fare, but this time they have their secret weapon.

A giant, dancing pickle.

I know....what? A giant dancing pickle? Yes, that is correct. It's become the thing my children look forward to when we drive by. If he's out there dancing, they are crazy waving at him and pointing him out. I'm pretty sure they must know me by my car and my kids. Because they look like fools every time we drive by. And with this particular location, it's quite often.

I kid you not, we will be down the street, driving towards the restaurant and they are both straining to catch sight of the chef's hat he wears. Oh, we've had many different conversations centered on Mr. Pickles. Where is he in the mornings when he's not out? He's sleeping. Why does he wear a hat? He's a chef at the restaurant. How does he see out? Do you think he eats pickles?

EVEN IF HE'S NOT THERE, we go through the same stuff. Bennett will inform me (EVERY TIME) that he's not there because he's sleeping so that he can wave to him.

Even though I never visited any of the other establishments that called this particular location home, we WILL be going to Mr. Pickles. Because, really? How can I not. It's practically Disneyland.

Nice work, Mr. Pickles. Sheer genius!