Piggish

A binge was inevitable. I spent three days in too-close-for-comfort hospital quarters with members of my immediate and extended family, which I’m imagining is a challenge for even the most mentally stable of individuals. It was actually a miracle I held my shit together for as long as I did, but by the end of the third day, I was starting to unravel. So I got in my car and headed to the nearest restaurant.

The menu was overwhelming, and I panicked at the prospect of having to settle on just a few items when what I really wanted to do was throw my skinny vegetarianism out the window and order one of everything on the menu. I finally decided on a a salad with sesame-ginger dressing (which may as well be ranch), a side of hush puppies and a basket of sweet potato fries covered in cinnamon and sugar. When the waitress came over to take my order, I made sure to preface it with “This is going to be piggish, but…”

WHY THE FUCK DO I FEEL THE NEED TO APOLOGIZE FOR EATING? DO FAT PEOPLE APOLOGIZE FOR GOING TO BUFFETS?