Chicken Strips and French Fries

Weight: Still fat
Listening To: Beautiful silence
Mood: Fussy, but mellow

In a way, I'm a french fry consesouir. The perfect fry is crisp and light on the outside, so when you bite into it, you get that crunch. Then the inside comes pouring out, like a burst, which is warm and soft, almost melts in your mouth. The best french fry I've ever had has been at McDonald's. The worst french fry - well, that's been all over the place and not limited to In and Out, regardless of what you might say.

On Monday I started a new quarter of classes, and the teacher decided he was going to hold us until 9:30pm - the absolute latest time he can hold us until. He really didn't have anything to say, other than repeating himself over and over and over. He just wanted to stroke his *eh-hem* ego, and exercise his power. Whatever.

So being the good little dieter I am, I had packed myself up a day's worth of food the night before, and was fully prepared for any hunger strikes. What I wasn't prepared for were the chicken strips.

I seemed to be the only one that brought any sort of sustenance and sooner or later, the chicklet twins and my comrade in dieting all started to get hungry. At break, I walked with them up to the restaurant and contemplated a small salad with a little bit (wink, wink) of ranch dressing, but calculated the points and decided I was better off with something I already brought.

I didn't pay much attention to what they ordered, but I did pay more attention when it was delivered. Wouldn't you know it, the chicklet twins got chicken strips and my comrade got french fries. Not much of a comrade, eh?

I'm not sure if they noticed, but at the moment of the unveiling, I sat there, sideways in my chair, staring longingly at their chicken strips. They looked so good. They were golden, and perfect, and they even had the ranch dressing to dip them in. Forget it if chicken strips usually makes me sick, they are golden delicious over there!!! So I just stared, longingly. I stared even more then they soaked it down in ranch and took a bite. I could feel the texture in my mouth, almost taste the coolness of the ranch with the crispiness of the chicken strips. So I had to turn around . . . . and be tempted by my partner's french fries. I were right there!! All I had to do was reach over and grab one, she wouldn't know if I timed it right, and if I didn't - hell, it's not like she would kill me over a french fry, or two, maybe three?

I began to wonder how many points these things were, maybe I could make it work. I furiously turned the pages in my points pocket guide . . . french fries, french fries, fuck that's too much. Chicken!! chicken, chicken, chicken . . where are the strips?? Really?? Dam, that sucks for me.

So I pulled the grapes out of my bag, and sat there secretly pouting while I ate them.