This is a story about peer pressure. Plain and simple.
Last night, I pulled up to a stoplight and commenced with my usual voyeuristic observing of the cars and drivers around me. To my right was a guy in an SUV. The first thing I noticed was what appeared to be tears cascading down his face. Second thing: he was doing major, major damage to a burrito. We’ll get to probable tears later. What grabbed my attention was that burrito. It was soft, it looked delicious, and for the first time in my entire life, I wanted one. I’ve never, ever craved a burrito, or any other Mexican food. That’s just me. But the way he held it in his hands…like a beloved friend saying goodbye to his beloved friend before utterly consuming it…
I stared at him and that burrito until the stoplight turned green. Some minutes later, I reached for my trusty smartphone GPS, searched for a Taco Bell (there was no time to locate authentic Mexican fare, reader, not when my belly was officially running things), found it, drove there, and ordered my version of what I saw Burrito Man eating. It was delicious. Or was it? I don’t know. I ate it so quickly that I tasted nothing but air, really.
My hunger and burrito longing had been satiated. All was right in the world. Until late in the evening, when my belly felt guilty for what happened and decided to punish me with echoes of weird alien noises, groans, sighs, and other related things. This lasted into this morning, when I became convinced that maybe something was now living inside of me?
It’s better now. Much better. Maybe we’re OK. Maybe we’re out of the woods. Maybe nothing is indeed inhabiting my body. Maybe.
But let’s go back to that moment, shall we? This wouldn’t be your Square Peg if we didn’t analyze every single iota of what happened yesterday.
- Yes, I wondered why Burrito Man was crying. Or was he crying? Tears of food-related joy? Was it sweat? But his car windows were closed, so the air conditioning was likely on. And he seemed thoroughly unconcerned. The world, for him, was that burrito.
- Honestly, yesterday was a testament to the oodles of junk I’ve been eating since I arrived in this state. I don’t doubt that it has everything to do with the hills and valleys of my fluctuating emotions. Hopefully things will get back to normal and the thought of resuming my four-day workouts won’t drive me right to comfort of my armchair. Le sigh.
- Did he see me staring? Did he even care?
- The drive-through Taco Bell guy has a story to tell for ages now: when I ordered my burrito, I asked if it was soft. “Of course it is,” he replied, chuckling. “It’s a burrito.” I informed him that it had been a long day.
- Living in TX now affords me the change to venture and try Mexican food, no? I’ll try it. As long as there are sweet fried plantains and beans involved. If you’re Ghanaian or West African, you feel me on this.
The end. The moral of the story: the eyes may want something, but the belly will only be temporarily appeased until it turns against you. Make wise decisions.
Have you ever eaten something that turned your digestive system into a vengeful alien? In other words, tell me all about your suffering in the comments. Please and thank you. Misery loves company.