I Confess: I Am a Pig

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. Why is it that every time I go to Texas, I fall back into my old habit of eating whatever I want and drinking gravy? Muscle memory takes over and my brain thinks it's actually okay to eat bean dip for dinner. Seriously, one night I ate Tostitos and bean dip for dinner. And I enjoyed it too. Blame it on my mom who has Cameo cookies and iced tea for breakfast I suppose. Within thirty minutes of being on Texas soil, my shiny silver rental car drove through a Whatburger. I swear to God I had nothing to do with it. The GPS and the cruise control conspired against my healthy eating habits and force fed me a number seven combo. One day while in Texas, I had a McDonald's McFlurry for lunch. I didn't even know what a freakin' McFlurry was, but I was introduced to it by my niece who recommenced I get the Oreo McFlurry. I did and now I worship at the altar of McFlurry. True, it was a blatant rip-off of the Dairy Queen Blizzard, but I cared not. I ate it for lunch and I felt fine about it. One morning, I drove past my arch nemesis, Chick-Fil-A who I blogged about quite unflatteringly a few weeks ago. As I sat in the Target parking lot trying to decide if I should give them my hard-earned gay dollars, I thought, "what would Jesus do?" And I decided that Jesus would forgive and forget and drive his sandal wearin' ass over for some chicken. And so I did. And it was good. And the lady at the drive thru window didn't seem like a total homophobe at all. She was right nice and friendly.

These four days in Texas saw me consume more Coca-Cola than I normally do in three weeks. I had it for breakfast, lunch dinner and snacks. One morning after brushing my teeth I almost rinsed with it, but thought better and used Country Time Lemonade instead, for that fresh, minty, sugary feel. Someone made chocolate chip cookies and I had about ten of those in one sitting. I drank Coors Light and Michelob Ultra instead of cosmos and I drank these out of cans. Cans, I tell you. Cans that were in coozies. When I was at the airport to come back to reality, I scanned the food court for one last food extravagance. I only had thirty minutes until boarding and my eyes fell upon Schlotzky's Sandwiches. I literally ran to the counter to place my order. I heard my flight being boarded but all I cared about was that ham and cheese on the sourdough bread so I ignored the plea for all customers for flight 351 to go to gate 18. I got my sandwich and inhaled it, along with a Coke and salt and vinegar potato chips. As I waddled over to my gate, I picked some shredded lettuce out of my teeth and patted my belly. Texas was very good to me. My digestive track? Not so much. But I was okay with it. I made myself comfortable in my seat and buckled my seat belt low and tight around my waist and promptly fell asleep.

I woke up only minutes away from New York. When I got out of the airport, the cold air slapped my face and jolted me back to reality. My time in Texas was good on so many levels. I was melancholy but content. Empty but full. Sad but happy. Later, while on the 7 train only three stops from home, two subway performers came into the car and danced. I didn't give them any money because I don't do that, but I knew I was home again. The fast food, the Cokes and my family were all back in Texas. I miss them. My family, I mean, not the fast food. I miss my family. Okay, and I kinda miss Whataburger too.

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