Before this even starts, I’ll admit I ate Mcdonald’s recently. To go even further, I’ll fess up that for the most part, I did request it, so this is my fault. McNoWay, right?!
The paleo food snob girl who writes a food blog, and swears by paleo/clean eating, ate fast food. Contain your shock and awe.
The good news, I survived.
The bad news, it was yummy.
The badder news (kind of a word), is that I think about it sometimes still.
The gooder news (stop judging me, I was an English major, I’m allowed to make up words), is that this ended up being a really fun moment in the midst of a kind of craptastical day with one of my kids. So, it kind of really was a great thing to happen between my husband and I that it had us laughing off the rest of the shittier parts of the day.
At all costs, just find something in your day that can bring you joy, make you laugh, or help you count your blessings. Believe me, as sick as I had been up until this point, I needed a laugh.
So, back to the story…I was sick AGAIN.
I wasn’t sick because I ate McDonald’s though. An old digestive issue I have flared up again and I was severely ill for about 5 days, just really, really shy of going to the hospital. Anyway, I hadn’t kept much food down or even eaten much by the time Sunday rolled around. One of my oldest, worst habits I thought I had rid myself of about a year ago was bad cravings, but those rules usually go out the window when I’m sick. This was no exception. Of all things to want to eat when you’re recovering from a bowel disorder, I wanted to eat McDonalds French fries with their Barbecue sauce and Hot Mustard, as well as a McDouble.
Guess what? I’m not perfect. But if you read my story about Crying Over Lettuce, you already know that. Though I don’t share my food indiscretions often, because I firmly believe in not feeling shame or bad about my eating days, I feel like I need to tell you that I did eat this. My husband had come home and asked me if I was craving anything, and he is not often one to deny me a craving, or talk me out of it, especially if I am sick. See, we believe in occasional “comfort foods,” and for as sick as I had been, and as hungry as I was, I don’t think he was going to be the one to let me down that day. Honestly, I think he was just thankful that I was upright and being human again, and not barfing like the green-faced girl in The Exorcist. You guys, it really was that bad! Click on those links at your own risk.
And I somehow thought I really needed french fries and bbq sauce and mustard, because that’s normal, right?!
Of course it is. The only real actual bonus to this is that I had lost so much weight all week, the amount of crap I was about to eat was not going to effect me very heavily in the weight department at least.
And my hubby went to McDonald’s to get me my shit, I mean food.
Now I want to express to you my hunger level in Google Images, because I cannot find the right words. Hang in there, the rest of the story will pick up after this Google interruption:
Do you understand now? I was hungry. He ran out the door to get me the first food I’d asked for in days. He ran out the door without a thought in his mind. He ran out the door to get me my food. And his food. Nothing wrong there, right?
Have I mentioned I have two little boys at home, too? Two little boys who LOVE McDonald’s and NEVER get to eat there because their MOMMY (that’s me btw), NEVER let’s them eat there. The SAME mommy who just asked for fries, a burger, and sauce packets.
So, by now, I am hoping you’ve caught on that my husband did NOT buy my kids anything. Not even a single solitary fry. Or a ketchup packet. And he remembered this as he exited his car, hands full of bags of food, a mouthful of fries, as he was on our front porch; thank god our blinds were all closed, so the kiddos had no idea. My husband felt like a huge jerk and a terrible father.
Oopsies. Two thumbs up for a job well done, daddy-o…NOT!
He knocked on the door and I could see the look of terror on his face and I had no idea what it meant, as I went to go open the door for him I panicked. He stood there and whispered in hushed terror, “I am a douche bag daddy. I didn’t get the kids any food.” Now, I don’t want to sound selfish here, but I was friggin’ hungry, and my kids are an endless pit of constant eating, so I knew they’d been eating all the days I hadn’t. I went ahead and took the selfish route, because as moms, we do that almost never.
I. Don’t. Share. (or at least that day I wasn’t!) I did what any panicked mom would do, knowing the safety of her fries was in question. I created a distraction, closed the French doors, ran back to my husband who was still on the front porch, and said, “RUN TO OUR BEDROOM NOW! Quick before they see you.”
It looked something like this. But with the grown ups hiding from the kids…and holding McDonald’s.
And we ran down the hall to our bedroom, locked the door, and ate it all on our new bed. Oink.
The good news, we made it.
The gooder news, it was DELICIOUS!
The goodest news, we never got caught.
When it was all gone, my husband exclaimed again, “I AM A DOUCHE BAG DADDY! I feel horrible. Thanks for helping me not get caught.”
And all I could muster, before I busted up laughing was, “Honey, I back you up and I’ve got your McBack.”
And then we laughed so hard the kids knocked on our door and wanted to know what we were laughing about. I will never tell, unless, of course, they read my blog some day.
The moral of the story is, I am a loyal friend and wife, and if you ever need someone to eat McDonald’s with behind a locked door and make stupid McJokes with, I’m your girl.