Fast Food Crack Head.

My mother was a wonderful cook.

Even though, in my mind I grew up eating at a prison cafeteria.

We barely ever had fast food.

Pizza Fridays?

GTFO.

So as a responsible adult, I decided my mission, was to eat as much fast food as possible.

Completely logical?

Right?

Well either way, on my various errands, I will find myself on the receiving end of a takeout window.

OK, I don't drive a fucking Tesla.

I don't "find" myself there.

I drove myself there.

With intent.

Purpose.

But nonetheless.

It does something to me.

Or maybe, for me.

White Castle, Taco Bell, Burger King, McDonald's.

Sometimes, when I am feeling extra frisky, even Wendy's.

I can always use a Frosty pick me up.

Anyways, I digress.

This whole habit makes me feel like I may as well be ordering a crack taco.

Because, subsequently after ordering, I shamefully drive around the corner and find a parking space.

Did I mention I order off their apps?

Shhhhh.

Once I park you would think I was wrapping up my arm and tapping for a vein.

Sunglasses on, head low, looking around to make sure the other parked cars are actually dining in the restaurant, so you are "alone."

No onlookers please.

Only the open addicted actually dine indoors.

FYI

And well hell, since I am at it, yes I save sauces, so just in case they are stingy, I wont have to worry.

Napkins?

Yep got those too.

Don't check my glove compartment.

Unless you want some mild sauce.

I dare you.

I am not quite sure why this guilty pleasure feels so devilish, but I will try to figure it out over some chicken fries, with some bbq sauce from the center console.

BRB.

Xoxo,

C.