A terrible thing has happened.
Primal has done wonderful things for my body, whipping GERD out the door and lessening my tinnitus, removing many layers of fat cells and sending me to the store to buy smaller pants, but it did something wholly unexpected, and unappreciated, last Friday.
Lady Friend has been after me to get the car detailed. I put it off and pretended not to know English, and finally she made an appointment and sent stentorian messages ordering me to report by noon and that she knew my English comprehension had not been misplaced. So I capitulated and drove to the car wash, where the Upgrade Pusher informed us that the headlights were oxidized and everything needed clay and did we realize there was a chip here? And here? Not intending to spend $300, even if he knocked off $60 (did we see the chip there, too?) we declined and left him staring forlornly as we got into Lady Friend’s Monster Truck and went to a favorite lunch joint for the first time in months.
Wanting to stay near primal, I declined soda for water. I had a tri-tip salad instead of the burger, since the buns there are evilly good. And I asked the waitress for their smallest order of curly fries, because I refuse to be so rigid that I deny myself that ambrosia. Lady Friend asked what made them curl, and I said they were deep-fried mice tails hoping to gross her out so I wouldn’t have to share. I knew when they came I would have to remember that I was in public, and not shovel them into my mouth.
The cook made regular fries by accident and so they were late coming to the table. I was happily plowing through the beef, bacon, and egg in my salad while eating a leaf here and there when they at last arrived, and then I dipped the curliest fry in ranch dressing and ate it. And was underwhelmed. I ate a few more in bewilderment, and then returned to the meat in my salad.
Where was the rush that I used to get from them? I was worried that I would lose control, but the bowl returned to the kitchen half full. I was more interested in the tri tip. Days later, I still can’t explain it. What if one day I look at a Cadbury Egg and feel bored? It seems impossible. The year has two seasons: when Cadbury Eggs are sold, and the Dark Time. Should ever we find ourselves on the crumbling stairs of Moria being chased by a balrog, and you are trying to get me to leap a void, all you’d have to do is flash a Cadbury Egg and I’d jump. Should I switch careers to a life of crime, it would be ridiculously easy to catch me. One need only to prop up a box on a stick and put a Cadbury Egg under it as a lure, and then yank away the stick once I’m in.
Such little things define us. I like Cadbury Eggs and curly fries, Mystery Science Theater and Doctor Who, celebrity gossip and PS3 Lego games. To lose one of my little things is disconcerting. And then I feel dumb, because they’re fries. But I don’t know this new panda thinking meh to curly fries, and I am curious as I travel down this path what else I will gain, and what else I will lose.
LitheGrokkette, if you find that you don't care for Tepper, you can always try out Terry Pratchett. His book "The Amazing Maurice and His Educated Rodents" was very funny.
*sniffles and tosses a single white rose*
yeah you are
Over the next 90 minutes, I want to show you that all of your problems can be solved with my penis.
Thank you, bloodorchid. *Cue the violins* Curly fries, I don't know if I ever really expressed what we had between us, and how much it meant to me. Ours was an affair not of the heart, but of the soul. You were there when no one else was. You brought crisp to my dampness of my life. And now I bid you adieu forever. Adieu, but never forgotten.