My usual coffee stop on the way to school is right next to a McDonald’s. Since I largely cut fast-food out of my life quite a few years ago I tend hardly to notice them anymore when I pass [exception: a road-trip is not a road-trip until at least one morning starts off with an Egg McMuffin and an orange juice with the tin-lid pulled back]. So I don’t know what kind of hormones were raging in me today or if something in their ventilation was off-kilter but this afternoon when I stopped for my iced latte the parking lot smelled of nothing but French fries. Hot, greasy salty French fries. The most delicious kind. The McDonald’s kind. The unadulterated food-lust I felt was nothing short of X-rated, ketchup-smothered, gluttonous sin.
Mindful of the arduous hour I’d already spent at the gym that morning and knowing full-well that giving into my wanton desires would only betray me in the end (and on my rear-end), I got in my car quick as can be, before my will power could falter, started the engine and backed out of the spot. But before I turned left out of the lot, soldiering onward my thighs none the jigglier, I couldn’t help but roll down the window and linger just a moment long enough to irritate the driver behind me waiting. Inhaling deeply, I allowed let the forbidden aroma linger upon my palette, letting my sense of smell tempestuously taunt my taste buds, as if I might just for a moment believe the fries were dancing upon my tongue. The pick-up truck behind me laid into their horn, prompting me back to my fry-less reality and I drove on.
They wouldn’t have tasted very good with a latte anyway, right? RIGHT?!?
1 comment:
Your self-control is inspiring! You're right those two tastes totally would clash!
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