Since Danny's Diary appears on singingnews.com, a Southern Gospel Web site, I generally try to keep my blogs focused on something that pertains to Southern Gospel - after all, that would make sense. But every now and then, I wander off topic just for the sheer entertainment and humor value.

With that in mind, have you ever seen any of those Chevy Chase vacation movies? I think I lived one of those movies last week.

The first part of the week, everything was just fine...the weather...the hotel...the 17-mile bicycle ride (explain to me how a circular bike path can be up hill all the way) around the island where we vacationed...all of it. We ate in some great restaurants and even found one of those little "hole-in-the-wall" places that has great food that you just can't get from a national chain.

But then came Thursday.

We were going to have a late lunch that day and because the first place we tried couldn't manage to bring two glasses of Diet Pepsi and one glass of sweet tea to our table within 30 minutes, we ventured into another place across town. The building looked like a recent construction (or at least, a recent remodeling) and when we entered, we noticed how clean things were. And you know, there is something that builds confidence when you eat in a clean restaurant.

Only three other customers were present. In retrospect, that may have been a sign of things to come. But because it was well past the lunch hour, we didn't think much about it.

We were quickly seated near the kitchen and our orders were taken. Between this time and the time our food arrived, the other customers left and about the only noise in the place was the hum of the air conditioner.

So you can imagine how startling it was when an exterminator came bursting through the front door - complete with goggles over his eyes and a huge chemical tank in his hand - and was met by the manager, who quickly ushered him to the kitchen. (If you've ever seen the movie "Mouse Hunt," just know that I'm convinced that the exterminator in that movie was directly related to the one we encountered.)

The fork I was holding in my hand stopped about halfway to my mouth.

Then I heard one pot fall on the kitchen floor. Then a pan. Then two. Then a dozen.

I put the fork down.

Then it got quiet again.

Now it doesn't take much to make my stomach do flip flops - I can develop motion sickness on the trip from my garage to my mailbox. So you can probably imagine how I was feeling at this point.

When I looked at my wife and son, I noticed that their forks and spoons were resting on their plates. I looked at them; they looked at me. It was one of those genuine "Well... hmmm... what should we do now?" moments.

That's when we heard the exterminator shout, "Oh my gosh, look at that wall! They're everywhere!"

Exit stage left. That's a wrap. Let the credits roll. We're done.