Today the Fatburger truck was at our building for lunch. I was feeling a little weird (like, the chills?), but I decided to venture out and get a burger because my co-worker said they were smaller than normal, like sliders. I’m also going to a bar tonight for my birthday, so I wanted to have a solid foundation of food in me. I’m a responsible drinker.
So I went to the truck, and it turned out that– like most fast food chains that also have trucks (cough– In ‘n Out– cough)– they don’t have their signature fries. Bummer. But hey, I don’t need fries.
I ordered with the man standing next to the truck, and I saw him circle what I ordered. A Baby Fatburger, no cheese. But I had this weird feeling that I wasn’t going to get what I ordered. I don’t know, sixth sense.
But whatever. I stood in the sun and got some Vitamin D and cradled a big handful of Vitamin K.
They called my name, and I accepted my burger, and I saw right away that it had cheese on it. But I was like, eh, I don’t feel like waiting in the sun any longer. I got my fill of being outdoors.
When I got my burger inside, I realized that it was actually a DOUBLE Baby Fatburger, with cheese. So it had two patties. And cheese. So I took off the bottom bun/patty, scraped off as much cheese as I could, and ate it. And I was so dazed/confused that I forgot the ketchup. But it was still good.
But accepting the “baby” burger I didn’t ask for made me start trying to justify why I didn’t just give it back, and then I started thinking about all sorts of baby metaphors. Like, I didn’t ASK for this baby, but this is the baby I GOT, so I guess I’d better learn to love it. Haha.
And it made me think of this article about the woman who selectively aborted one of her fetuses because she didn’t want to have twins. I didn’t want to ask the nice Fatburger man to abort one of my meat-uses.
Okay, this is getting weird. Obviously this whole situation is pushing my brain in a strange direction.
And one more thing– can you read the sign in the first picture that says they’re looking for BFFs: “Big Fat Friends?” I guess if you’re a Fatburger devotee you can keep it real, but it makes me feel a little squeam. Like, are you a BFF because you eat too much Fatburger? And if so, maybe stop being a BFF? Haha.
But I’m definitely not one to preach. I’ve got cake on speed dial. I talked to Lauren on the phone a little while ago, and she couldn’t believe how much cake is in my life. “How is this happening to you?” she asked. “It’s seriously as though the universe is hurling cake at you.” (Paraphrasing.)
“It’s not exactly a coincidence,” I said, wiping frosting from my lips. “I kinda put myself in cake’s path.”