I did two things on my way home from work yesterday.
First, you must understand that we have been suffering through a cold snap the past month - a below zero, skyrocketing heating bill, windchill sort of cold snap. I think that it's on its way to being the coldest March in Anchorage - ever. Anyway, this past week has been much much better - it's warmed up to above zero and yesterday I think it was even in the twenties.
So, of course, I jump the gun.
"How cold can it be?" I ask myself in my well-heated room after a long shower. "Surely not cold enough to wear my winter jacket!"
It was cold enough, and don't call me Shirley.
So the first thing I did on my way home from work is freeze. I was wearing my blue wool zip up hoodie (If you've seen me twice, you've probably seen me wear it), hunched like Quasimoto over my steering wheel, hating life.
The second thing I did on my way home is stop for dinner. Due to the crunch of the tax season (and my inability to get out of the house before eight a.m.) I've been working pretty late - seven or seven-thirty (eight, if I decide to blog). When I finally head home I am so starving that my dinner usually consists of a bag of Doritos and as many Oreos as my hand can span (a girl's got to have limits).
"Not tonight!" I thought last night, determined to break the forming habit of a snack-food meal, and I resolutely pulled into a restaurant parking lot.
A little place called McDonald's. Perhaps you've heard of it.
What has happened to our relationship, McDonald's? It used to be so carefree and happy. My eyes would light up with joy when they spotted the Golden Arches. I used to beg my mother, my father, anyone who would lend an ear - "Take me to Mickee Dee's!"
Chicken nuggets shaped like big feet and hot air ballons would float through my dreams.
I loved you, and I didn't care who knew it.
But we've grown apart, McDonald's. We never talk anymore. We never laugh. Somewhere between college and Supersize Me, I've grown embarrassed that I like you so much.
And now even when I do stop by it is with a guilty conscious and a supercilious air. "If sikegami were dead," I say to myself, "she would be rolling over in her grave!" I hide my trash.
But who am I kidding? I'm no gourmet. And I do love chicken mcnuggets.
I don't care who knows it.