Burgeriffic

Inflation has been with us all our lives. It takes different forms. Sometimes you just have to pay more for things, and sometimes you pay the same, but get less. Either way, you have to be either taking in more money or wanting whatever you're buying more than you used to.
Mona and I customarily go out to eat on Fridays. Sometimes we sit down for dinner, but there's also the takeout option, so it's not necessarily classy food. Last Friday we took that option, then drove to a shady spot on the bay and watched things there - birds, seals and other water dwellers. We've done the same thing plenty of times before in our now nine years in the Golden State. My goal on such evenings is avoiding getting mustard or ketchup on whatever I'm wearing. No guarantees there, either.
Our food, such as it was, came from Burger King. I had what they still insist is a "Whopper". It's not so whopping anymore, but what really surprised me was Mona's "Whopper Jr.". This sandwich can now fit in your palm and still leave a little space. It's pathetic. Calling it a "Whopper" of any kind is false advertising. The "Three-biter" or the "micro-burger" would be more accurate, as would the "Baby-burger", a term I recall from long ago burger history. What we got was no more "whopper" than a Shetland pony is a Clydesdale. But, we payed for it, and ate it. After all, it's just inflation, right?