No Fries On My Thighs

Alyssa may find it quite difficult to believe especially when I’m complaining about an “almost wrinkle” that threatens to develop around the outer edge of my eyes, but I was once twenty years old.

Life was absolutely perfect.

Bet you haven’t heard that statement many times nor did you think I would say it either. However, I can say for sure that life was really wonderful. I was working full-time during the day, going to college during the night, living at home, saving money and feeling happy most of the time.

Lunch was a wonderful event every day.

I didn’t have to worry about gaining weight because I never gained an ounce.

Carbohydrates and sugar were my best friends.

Each day I wanted to be the lunch fetcher because I loved smelling food almost as much as I enjoyed eating it…but not quite.

There not only wasn’t any concern over the amount of carbohydrates consumed, but the fat content was irrelevant. Running into any hamburger place at lunch meant that the order would be two quarter pound hamburgers with everything including cheese and one or two very large french fry sides.

I usually ate at places that used real meat patties that were charbroiled.

The french fries always had lots of salt.

Time changes lots of things like my figure and desire for healthier eating, but I am after all, only human which is why sometimes…

I repeat old habits.

Inside I am still twenty years old.

I can still eat burgers and french fries.

The moments with the burger and french fries were glorious.

The tomato, onions and lettuce were cold.

The burger was sizzling hot as I bit through the soft bun.

Cheese oozed.

That happens when you ask for double cheese.

Then the crisp french fries were soft inside and covered with salt on the outside.

As the sun spilled through the window of the car, I consumed the carbohydrate soaked lunch with the vigor of the twenty year old that I still try to pretend exists.

Each bite was perfect.

At least it was perfect while I ate the sandwich.

Twenty minutes after all evidence of my meal was hidden, my body revolted.

“Sick” isn’t even a good descriptive word for how my body felt as it heaved and cramped while I let my head hang over the porcelain throne.

Prone on the floor with my face against the cold tile, completely still, my body spent from the violent rejection of the delectable and tantalizing food, I found the energy to smile.

The meal was completely gone from body as if I had never eaten it.

Weak, but happy, I thought, “No fries would find my thighs this time.”