My sister and I eat out a lot. And by eat out I mean fast food. When we have Subway we're like OH! God! I'm faint. I'm like ana right now. Where my fries at?
It's something that I think we are sort of disgusted at, but at the same time don't really want to escape the lure of bbq sauce and salt. It got to the point where one of her roommates jokingly suggested she give up fast food for lent. We looked at each other like Aw. Hell. Naw. Christ gave his life.... well...Did Christ ever have a cheeseburger animal style with extra grilled onions? I don't think so. Kate Moss hath once spewed "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels." Really? Clearly she hasn't had anything fried. ever. Dumb. (Wow Jesus to Kate Moss in two sentences. LOOK AT THAT TRANSITION)
Anyway, my sister recently told me an anecdote that I feel sums up our love-hate-secretly love relationship with all that is devilish for the corporal self. One evening she and her roommate decided to play racket ball at the school's gymnasium. My sister's roommate (I shall name her Christina) got there early and worked out before hand. My sister (I shall name her Sasha) drove to the gym.
Christina was kind of tired from her previous exertion and my sister just sort of watched the ball bounce and half heartedly chased it. After a while of playing glorified fetch with rackets, the girls decided they were hungry. Since they had clocked some time in sweating and such, they decided to treat themselves to Mexican food. Also known as Taco Bell. Luckily, Sasha had driven.
After Mexican Pizzas and Double Deckers (briefly, a taco named after a bus. Do we even notice this shit?) the fearless consumers ascertained that they really weren't that full.
"I'm not really thaaaat fauoll"
"Wanna go to Jack in the Box?"
I am sure the conversation was more in depth than that. I am just projecting how it would be if Sash and I were talking to one another in this situation. (Y'all are like yeah effing right. YOU ARE CHRISTINA). Thus they traveled to stop number two and hastily bought curly fries and onion rings. My sister described the instance as one of sadistic consumption. "Were weren't even hungry anymore, it didn't taste good. I just didn't know what else to do but eat. Ahhheeeeh," she moans to me, in reflection. And mimes putting a french fry to her mouth, face twisted into a remorseful and terribly sad expression.
When they got home the girls started to realize that they had overdosed. My sister describes the scene as one of greasy pain and temporary horror. I say temporary because as Sasha finished retelling me the story, she added one final detail of her trauma.
"It was so bad," she whimpers as I am rolling on the bed laughing. "I couldn't eat until like" (Brief Pause) "Eleven p.m."
I love my Family.