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Fried Food Sadness

Let me smell your fries

Who doesn't love food? Mozzarella sticks, onion rings, chicken tenders were shoved into my mouth on the regular. None of them are healthy and that is why I loved them. I ate when I was hungry or drunk or bored. Sometimes all three. In college I had a quick-service restaurant that specialized in fried treats one floor below mine. I used to house a chicken tender wrap with ranch dressing and a side of potato wedges daily. I was never heavy or portly shockingly. I did gain the freshman 15, but I also tanned every day and looked like a moron, so no one noticed the fatty I had turned into. Then suddenly my whole life changed. The foods I loved were gone and all I had left were the memories and crumbs of battered and deep fat fried goodness left in my rolls.

I was in Disney World interning at Artist Point in the Wilderness Lodge and living with my favorite five girls in 3609. Crohns' was working it's hardest to take my colon, so my mom came down from Maryland and put me in the hospital to battle the evil. After many tests and procedures they determined that my colon was failing big time. Since, I was extremely attached to all my organs I vowed to do everything in my power to save it. Including changing my scrumptious eating habits. A nutritionist stomped into my room and sternly told me to give up caffeine, carbonation, sugar, fried food, dairy, and anything fatty. With tears and snot covering my face I contemplated giving up my beloved diet coke and all my other delicious friends. No matter how devastating the thought was I knew that my health and colon came first. Technically, my mom knew and made the decision. That bitch can be very persuasive and terrifying.

After I was discharged from the hospital I went back to my apartment and threw away all the junk I loved. It was the saddest, heaviest trash bag I'd ever filled...and I had given away shoes. As I sat down and thought about a life filled with tasteless, bland salads and veggie burgers I knew there was one thing left to do. I drove to the Chick-Fil-A next door and got an original chicken sandwich with a large waffle fry. I shoveled every last bite into my eager trap. Then like all great things the ecstasy wore off and the Crohn's kicked in. I ran to the bathroom and I threw that bad boy up. Not gonna lie, even that was pretty yummy. I can still taste every morsel of that artery clogging, homophobic sandwich. It was the last fried food I have eaten and damn was it not the best.


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