Lately I’ve had these huge cravings for french fries (yes french, not freedom, dammit). I feel my tummy growling for lunch or dinner and the first thing I think is “Oooooh I want some french fries!” Yesterday while I was out running errands I actually heard Burger King calling my name, and it came from the deep fryer.
So of course I stopped. I had to. After all, fries once won’t ruin a diet. Right?
So I got my fries, all warm and wonderful and salty, and sat down to eat them. I savored the first couple, relishing the tiny little pop of grease that squirted as my teeth clenched down. Hell yes, grease is half the reason they’re so good! I was so engrossed in enjoying my fries that I didn’t pay much attention as I reached into the little bag for another.
I slid it slowly into my mouth, thinking this was sooooo good…and then I bit down. And then tears flooded my eyes as this unbelievable pain shot through the roof of my mouth, through my sinuses, through my eyes and skull and quite possibly into the earth’s atmosphere.
My wonderful, lovely, warm and salty french fry had a tip on it so sharp it could have cut through Aunt Martha’s Special Recipe Pot Roast. You know, the kind left in the oven so long it turns into shoe leather. That tip jammed into the roof of my mouth, breaking skin, were it lodged as it broke off from the rest of the fry.
By the time I realized what had happened I’d swallowed and the roof of my mouth was beginning to swell. I could feel it with my tongue: the offending area was roughly the size of a quarter and as thick as my thumb, and one little bit of potato fleshy crap was sticking out.
How in the hell do I explain this one in the ER? I wondered. Do I go up to the window and say “Excuth me, but I thust got sthabbed by a fwench fwy and it weawwy hurths!”
Gingerly, I stuck a finger into my mouth and probed. Yep, it was swelling and bleeding a tiny bit. It hurt like a mother, too, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt any more if I tried to dig it out.
Wrong.
After the tears cleared from my eyes and the snot stopped running from my nose, I realized the piece of fry had popped out, the swelling was going down, and I was safe from the ridicule of the ER tech who would surely announce my presence over the speaker system. “Attention in the ER, we have a woman who was attacked by a fried potato product…”
You’d think that would have ended the French fry cravings.
You’d think.
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