I have made the return journey from the fuds. Unfortunately, it required a little bit of rule breaking. Not God's rules, not even my mother's rules, oh, no no no, MY rules. I try to be oh so circumspect here in the little yellow house. Only fresh foods. No preservatives! No trans fats! Whole grains! Locally grown, organic even! Seasonal! Okay, tiny concession to Italian sausage (chicken at least) and Cool Whip. I'm not perfect, after all. But on my way home from my very righteous meeting yesterday afternoon, faster than you could say non-complex carbohydrates, my little black Focus just turned into the drive up at the new In and Out. The guy outfitted with the soda jerk hat assured me the line was short at that time. I kind of gasped when I saw about twenty cars in front of me. Turned out this is short for this place. They took my order when I was about ten cars away, and the line just plodded along and a mere seven minutes later I had my order: hamburger with the works, fries and a vanilla milkshake. Now, I doubt there was any skim milk in that sucker. And those fries, fresh as new mown hay! And the hamburger, on a soft as cotton white-bread bun, ah, heaven! To be fair, this was dunch. Or maybe linner? I didn't have any lunch, because my stomach hadn't transitioned to the new time yet. And I didn't have any dessert, either, unless you count the milkshake, which was a beverage. Right? Mother always said moderation was the key. And fast food, once a season, seems pretty moderate to me. Is it winter yet?
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