It's the end of the world
God help me, but I really want a McGriddle. I mean, I can�t stop thinking about it. I keep hoping that someone I know will admit to eating one and tell me about it. And I hope they say it tastes like rat.
But they won�t.
They�ll tell me that it is sneakily very, very good. They will probably feel guilty about enjoying it so much. They will tell me that I really can�t understand that allure of the McGriddle unless I eat one myself.
And then I will. And I will feel terrible, but satisfied.
Tomorrow I have an early meeting and I might have to break down and get one. I�ve managed to avoid them so far because I work out of my house and don�t often have a reason to leave before 10:30. This leaves me eating responsible breakfasts like fruit and yogurt and granola (and leftover pizza, and string cheese, and chips). But tomorrow, the goddamned McGriddle is mine. I think I want the plain sausage one. I�m off eggs lately.
Eggs. I have had a lifetime of struggle with them. I hated them pretty unequivocally for my entire childhood and adolescence. I would only eat them hard boiled, and even then I only liked the yolks. Scrambled eggs, omelettes, sunny side up�all barf inducing. Sometimes I couldn�t even handle the smell of eggs cooking.
When I moved to New York, something changed. I was working at a restaurant where you could choose from 5 different shift meals before work. I was so very sick of the other offerings that I bucked up and ordered the spinach and goat cheese omelette, well done. They put guacamole and marinated onions on the side of their omelets, which sounds weird, but was great. And this began the great Omelette Love Affair of 2001. I even started liking eggs over medium on toast. This was a remarkable time. It made breakfast so much more satisfying. I felt like I was in with the in crowd.
And then, no more. Over Christmas last year, something switched my flip. I caught a whiff of scrambled eggs and my stomache did a little flip. Minor, I still ate the eggs, but I knew I was pretty much done. When we were pretty broke this spring and early summer, C made me sweet little omelettes with whatever he could find in the fridge. I knew they were delicious�and the thought made them even better�but a month ago I took a bite and knew that it was my last bite of egg for a long, long time. I honestly thought I was going to barf.
I still like hard boiled eggs, though. Good source of protein for me, and I�m not ashamed to order them for breakfast.
Anyway, now that I�ve blathered on about EGGS of all things�what else? Last weekend was just fine. Pretty standard, but nice. We had friends over to grill out and watch our new Led Zeppelin DVD on Friday. Saturday we went and bought the new bed (more on that in a moment), then I went out to this insane Honky-Tonk to see C�s band. Sunday was nice, I bought new sheets and some more new DVD�s (Office Space and Amelie). We were nice and lazy after that.
PS�the new bed is the best thing in the world. I want to marry it. Or at least sleep with it. Heheh. Also, if you type �omelettes� enough, it doesn�t look right at all, prompting you to change the spelling a million times. Omelet, omlette, omelete, bah.