Some days are crazy-no-rest-for-the-weary-hectic from the moment my feet hit the floor (or the cat, if he is stupid enough to sleep in the wrong place on the floor) to the moment I collapse into bed. I realize I am not alone in this. I have no illusions that I am somehow more pathetically busy than anyone else out there. And that craziness often ends up dictating my eating habits more than I’d like. I’ll confess, I don’t mind going to McDonald’s for Breakfast on busy busy days. I’ve even been known to beg pathetically at 11:00am if they could just give me their left over breakfast items, even though its lunch time. It usually works. The eggs are oddly textured by then, but I like an adventure every now and again.
Today, in my manic, ADD, Type A personality, over-achiever mode (which apparently happens after a day of binge-eating Rum Balls) I found myself at McDonalds after delivering some of the extra said Rum Balls. Yes, I was grovelling. Yes, they bent under the pressure of my unbelievably pathetic and nasal whine. I was the proud owner of two rather old, and somewhat hardened Sausage Burritos. That moment… when I have paid, picked up, and am driving off with a short burst of elation in the knowlege that I will soon have that salty fatty deliciousness in my mouth, is a moment I savor in an un-natural way. Its ok, I’ve come to terms with it.
Well, today I was REALLY hungry. I’ve never ‘done Pot’, never intend to, but I have heard that you can get the “munchies” really badly afterwards. Turns out, the same thing happens 24 hours after bingeing on Suped-Up-Turbo Rum Balls. I was hungry. SERIOUSLY hungry. Like, I would eat a small child if they were in front of me and had cheese sauce poured over them.
Look, I’m not proud, its just how I’m made.
I pulled onto the driveway apron of McDonalds at Fisher Avenue in Poolesville, with one hand on the wheel and the other elbow deep into that bag of cholesterol-brined deliciousness. I was waiting for my turn to pull onto the street, and was multi-tasking as I did it. I had unwrapped a sausage burrito and was shoving as much of it as I could, without gagging, into my mouth. Oh I was in heaven. The sausage! The cheese! The peppers! The Glorious salt! Warmth, joy, angels singing! I could feel the endorphins coursing through my plaque-encrusted veins. It’s my version of “Calgon Take Me Away”, only its “Burrito, Take Me Away!”, which, frankly, sounds dirty.
And then I had this awful feeling that I wasn’t alone in my ecstasy. There, in a car right in front of me, was a man waiting to turn into McDonalds. Not just any stranger, but the father of one of my kid’s classmates. Oh he knew who I was. And he was staring at me. The look on his face was complete disgust. What could I do? He saw me, he knew I saw him see me. I saw that he knew that I saw him see me. (It was getting complex.) It’s not like I could hide, so I smiled sheepishly, half chewed sausage and egg guts spilling out onto my lips, and waved with the hand holding the remainder of the ravished burrito. He looked away and said something to the kids in the back of his car as he made his turn. I just know it was something along the lines of “DON’T play with her kids on the school playground!”
I swallowed. My glorious sausage burrito didn’t taste as good as it used to. I felt so ashamed. Undisciplined. Weak. Unbelievably embarrassed. And right then and there I made my promise to myself. You know those life-changing promises? The ones that you really keep because you see how vital it is to your spiritual health and well being. I promised myself that I would never, never, never again eat my burrito like a Dog at a bowl of freshly opened Alpo on the Apron of McDonalds. Henceforth, I will eat my burritos like a Dog at a bowl of freshly opened Alpo parked nose in, in the back of the parking lot, where no one will see me.