Issue #23 My Affair With The Golden Arches
And…
First confession.
I eat fast food.
There.
I said it.
Not every day, not even every week, but more frequently than I probably should.
And I know I’m not alone.
But something that interests me is a sort of snobbery against the drive-thrus of the world and this game people play where they pretend they wouldn’t be caught dead with a bag of fries and a cheap hamburger.
You know the people I’m talking about – if you can even get them to admit they’ve put money into the pockets of these junk food purveyors, they pretend they only order salads.
Salads. Ha!
OK, yes, I’ve gotten those salads at Wendys - and they’re amazing - but let’s just all admit that we get fries more often than a bowl of lettuce.
Second confession.
I’m a McDonalds girl.
I’ve had flirtations with other fast food places but always wind up back at the good ol’ golden arches.
McDonalds has a hold on me for three main reasons:
I’m hopelessly addicted to their French fries
It is possible to get something filling for less than $5
The bathrooms tend to be clean and safe.
The bathroom thing is especially important to me when I’m traveling alone. There are a lot of dodgy toilet facilities available on a road trip. In general, probably because of corporate standards and franchise agreements, McDonalds does a pretty good job of keeping things clean and keeping toilet paper stocked.
And, some time back – I’m not exactly sure when – they started building these little rooms around the stalls so that very solid walls come all the way to the floor except for the door area. And the locks are real locks instead of little hook and eye contraptions.
Generally, I like that. It makes me feel safe
Until that time a couple months ago when that sturdy lock stubbornly refused to let me back out.
There was nothing for it but to slither under the door and be grateful to be unobserved.
And shower as soon as possible.
Copyright© 2023 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.
Entrapment
Every year I fall for them.
Hibiscus.
So gorgeous.
Some of them can winter over where I live and some of them cannot.
Which has me dragging enormous potted trees in and out of the house depending on the season.
Until I get fed up with keeping the little bugs off of them and nursing them through the winter and I bail.
And, of course, buy another one the following Spring.
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I appreciate the feedback and knowing how often I have struck a chord with your lives.
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