I love that you’re closed on Sundays. I support you wholeheartedly. But, dang, you are like some sort of chicken temptress on Sunday afternoons. How come I’m so stupid on Saturdays and don’t come see you when you’re open? Why do I completely act surprised every time I drive into your parking lot after church only to find you closed? I get so excited at first because the line looks really short, only to be crushed against the harsh rocks of chicken denial.