McShame

Dear friends, I hope that you will still love me after the confession I'm about to make.  Today, I committed a betrayal.  Sure, you judge others who stoop so low.  But as much as you don't want to think that you're capable of such a thing, in the back of your mind, you know that you might be.  That you might even want it.  And the day that you prove those doubtful thoughts correct is a day of deep shame, indeed.  Yes, friends.  Today I cheated on my new lover Brie with my old flame, Kraft Single.

I didn't plan it this way, it just sort of happened.  AH and I ventured into Antony to do some shopping before dinner, and realized that we would probably get hungry before 7 when all the restaurants open.  One of us, I don't remember who (maybe it's better not to point fingers), "jokingly" suggested that we could eat at the McDonald's near the train station.  The other laughed, as if to play along.  But deep down, we knew we wanted it.  That we couldn't stay away.

Oh sure, like so many, we rationalized it away.  Of course we were still getting out of our American comfort zone.
"Look, there's a little case with macaroons."
"Oh, you can get a beer with your meal!"
"The toilets are all the way up on the third floor!"
"We've been waiting in line for 20 minutes. Ah, French efficiency..."

But then came the kicker:
AH: You know, I've never had a Big Mac.
Me: You mean, since you've been a vegetarian?
AH: No, I mean ever.  I didn't like sauce on my burgers as a kid.

So momentarily, my guilt dissipates as I chalk this up to yet another novel experience that my husband gets to share with me.  But then I swirl my "Coke Light," and I hear something that I haven't heard in weeks.  It is the clinking of ice cubes, a whole plethora of cold, delicious ice cubes, watering down my coke and chilling my hand.  It's 3 degrees C outside, and yet I shudder with pleasure.  AH manages to decipher the nutritional content on the side of his Big Mac and realizes that he's now consumed 50% of his daily sodium intake.  The fries count for the other 36%.  Even though I can feel my face bloating, I want to lick the inside of the red carton.  Who am I kidding?  This is the longing that needed fulfilled, the itch that needed to be scratched.

For dinner I came back to my true lover, French cuisine.  I had grilled scallops and AH had a divine duck confit.  It was enough to reform me, and for now I have no intention of straying into saltier arms.  But I know that if I ever need another seedy, saucy rendevouz, I know just where to go....