I have a confession to make. I will be 27 years old in a matter of weeks and I still love McDonalds. I have been waiting for the maturation of my pallet to occur, which I was always told would happen when I grew up, and still nothing. Maybe it's because of the price, maybe it can be blamed on nostalgia, but there is something about a double cheeseburger (no onions), fries, and a sprite that brings warmth to my heart and plaque to my arteries.
I have been to wonderfully fancy restaurants such as, The Timbermine, The Roof, and Marie Calendars. But they all require presentable appearance and a reservation. What kind of friend is that?! No no, a true friend is someone who doesn't care what you look like, who will still be there for you on your worst day, and doesn't have to pencil you into a schedule. So on a rainy Saturday night you know you can always strap on your elastic waist pants and head to McDonalds.
To comfort food. (Even if it doubles as a guilty pleasure)
Whew, glad I got that off my chest.
1 comment:
Way to put the truth out there like that. :) Maybe you love it so due to the lack thereof in your growing up days in Fillmore. Ha!
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