It was a rough weekend.
I sense a pattern. More and more of my blogs start this way.
I was in charge of planning and running a Silent Auction and Spaghetti Dinner for charity. If my stress is any indication one would think I was planning the Royal Wedding at Buckingham Palace.
In reality it was 400 people eating canned spaghetti off paper plates in an elementary school gymnasium.
But it felt like a big deal and I was wearing my best pair of jeans.
I really don’t eat much fast food at all. However, the end of stressful weekends should be celebrated and so I craved a cheeseburger.
It’s important to note that, as a non-certified dietitian specializing in Marshmallow Fluff and Ramen, if you crave anything for more than 48 hours than that means you should eat it. Also you should never mix Marshmallow Fluff and Ramen. You’re welcome.
So I did get a burger at the first place I could find… St. Carl’s. (The actual name will not be identified in this blog).
I don’t eat at St. Carl’s for two reasons:
1. The commercials are disgusting.
According to this restaurant’s advertising the only females they want eating their food are Victoria Secret models who frequently wash cars in their bikinis. (Or men but whatever this isn’t about them). Since I don’t usually feel like washing our Kia Rio hatchback in my bikini and since, despite what my husband might say, I’m not a Victoria Secret Model, I don’t eat at St. Carl’s.
St. Carl is a pervert.
2. I’m a pretend healthy person.
I pulled up to the drive-through and quickly tried to find the healthiest option on the menu. All the while my brain called me a hypocrite. A woman. Fully clothed. Eating from St. Carl’s. A monstrous chain that exploits sexy women.
Those poor, poor, sexy women.
I’m not super healthy. I don’t eat salad every day, or vegetables every day, or fruit … ever. As a pretend healthy person, I looked at the menu desperately for the “healthy” burger option.
“All Natural Burger”. Perfect.
You know the burger. The one that has that terrible commercial with the naked woman walking through a farmer’s market. Stupid woman. You obviously don’t eat cheeseburgers.
Duh, you’re naked.
My bikini was bought two years ago, never worn and the last time I saw it, one half (can’t remember top or bottom) fell behind a drawer in my dresser. But I wanted a burger and it was raining. So the car was in fact, getting washed.
That counts. I’m a model.
Your brain might know better. My brain knows the “All Natural Burger” at St. Carl’s doesn’t mean it’s healthy. But guilt – guilt does not. And so I ate it.
I washed it down with red wine which we all know is super heart-healthy. It’s also good for drowning the guilt of supporting the womanizing St. Carl.
Healthiest meal on earth.