I’ve never eaten more crap than I have this summer. Usually, because of my heart (and history of cancer in my family), I’m a healthy guy. I eat vegetables at every meal, I try not to eat meat, and only real indulgence is a Slurpee every now and again. Since I’ve been working on the house for 10-14 hours a day, all that has gone right out the window; or, rather, it’s gone to the Arby’s pick-up window and asked for extra horsey sauce (which I didn’t know existed until six weeks ago).
On one of my many excursions to Taco Bell this summer, I overheard two conversations:
“Do you have anything that is gluten-free?” I can’t imagine having the conversation with myself where I consider “I don’t like the heartburn and diarrhea that comes from my gluten allergy, but the heartburn and diarrhea that comes from a Quesorito is something I rather enjoy.”
- “Do you have juices? I refuse to eat anywhere that only offers soda.” Again, I can’t imagine thinking to myself, “A Cap’n Crunch Ball sounds good, but I’ll have to balance that with a kale smoothie (I’d get a spinach one, but everyone knows about the greed of Big Spinach).” What worse is that this guy had a friend with him. This guy has a friend who knows his take on National-Restaurant-Chains-That-Offer-Deperession-Era-Grade-Meat-in-Meals-That-Cost-Under-Four-Dollars-and-Their-Policies-on-All-Natural-Fruit-Juices and never said, “I understand what you’re saying, but never tell that to another living soul.”
Seriously, if any of my friends ever told me their hard-line stance on fast-food juice, I would treat it as if they told me that they sometimes find pre-teen boys sexy: “Don’t ever say to anyone what you just said to me. And if you ever act on it, I will call the cops.”
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