Fries or Salad?

Day 36

Of course I want fries! What kind of question is that?! You have fried carbs lathered in grease, oil and salt and then you have lettuce drizzled in some shitty low-fat vinaigrette and you’re asking me which one I would like to jam (oooh jam!) down my throat? Do you hate me? Why are you making me choose? Why are you giving me this power? Just give me what I need, not what I want.

I gulped down my primitive desires as responsibility and sadness parted from my lips, “I’ll have a side salad please.” I hung up and began my walk home from work. As I walked, I caught a glimpse of myself in a building window. I have a dad, but I’m not a dad. Therefore I don’t want a dad bod — really ever — but certainly not as I’m a non-dad. It would be a misnomer. I’d just have a bad non-dad bod or as I like to call it: a good old-fashioned bad bod. Perhaps that’s what they called it before? I don’t know. What were we talking about? Oh yeah, I could stand to drop a few pounds. I’m reminded of this every time I see another person responsibly jog past me on my way home.

I finally get to the restaurant to pick up my sandwich with the side salad. When I get home, I don’t even care about the fries that could have been. I eat to live. I don’t live to eat. I’m so damn healthy and responsible and hungry. Honestly even if I had fries on my plate, I wouldn’t eat them. I’d give them to someone who isn’t as healthy and awesome as I am. I’m doing what’s right FOR ME.

I open up the container.

Fries.

They gave me fries by mistake.

Not a salad in sight.

But everything is alright. I got a bottle of Ketchup.

And she can squirt aaaalllll night.

I must say, tonight was a good night.