Saturday, January 12, 2013

The Last Supper

Fried alligator po'boy.
'Twas the night before PISE and all through the place...Suzie was anxiously stuffing her face.

I don't know what you do the night before a celebration of good health and fitness (the Pacific Institute for Sport Excellence Open House)...but I, apparently, indulge in a cornucopia of the unhealthy!  A plethora of fried, alcoholic, and sugary was my Last Supper after all. 

Here are some things you should know:  the Last Supper is almost always fast food...not particularly delicious, not particularly special, but always high in calories, low in nutrients, and generally beige in colour.  

My last supper was a giant burger, large order of French fries, and a diet soda...I'm sure that made a huge difference.  Having polished off the soda, wine then began to flow.  Wine, I love you.  Wine and I get along famously.  I also managed to scarf down a big-ass piece of strawberry rhubarb pie.  During such a ceremonious feast, it is not important that you actually care for the food...I don't really have a sweet tooth, but it was important for me to represent all the vices, lest one get jealous.  ;-)

I suppose the whole ritual was a farewell to the food I won't be able to eat going forward.  But the thing wasn't all that awesome in the end.  I ate it super fast in front of the telly and immediately felt bloated, tired, stuffed, and got a wicked case of heartburn.  Fast food 1, Suzie 0.

Dear Junk Food,

It's not you, it's me. 
You used to make me feel so amazing when I was with you, but I have finally realized that we aren't that good together.  I can't control myself around you, and you do terrible things to me.  My friends and family kept telling me to leave you, and I've tried many times...but you're the one abusive lover to whom I would always go back...but not this time.  This time we have to break up, once and for all.  I will always remember the times we had together fondly :-) 
Your ex-girlfriend Suzie


  1. Lesley Bee1/26/2013

    Alex loves your break-up letter..."Dear Junk Food, it's not you, it's me"
    I wonder if there's a program for record collectors to lose...records?

    1. You can't break up with records!