The Last French Fry

Have you noticed how the great meal deals of those fast food restaurants keep getting bigger and bigger all the time? It seems that no matter how big they are, we always want them just a little bit bigger. After all, what does the government know, saying that we only need 2,000 calories per day? Where in the Constitution does it give them a right to limit our food intake? I’m an American; I have a right to eat all I want, or at least all I can afford.

Why, if I want to eat all those calories in one sitting, I should be able to. Just think of it, stop in for a quick bite of cholesterol, fat and salt, all wrapped up in a supersized-jumbo-deluxe burger fiesta. Who cares about eating healthy, bring it on! My doctor can give me something to keep me healthy, that’s his job, not mine.

You know, as big as those meals get, it seems like they’re never big enough. You can sit there and pig out on all the cholesterol and carbohydrates you want, but eventually, you get to that last French fry. Oh, how sad it is to finally reach the bottom of the barrel, or at least the bottom of the French fry wrapper. “Why can’t they make these things bigger?” you ask, “I could keep on eating them for at least another hour.”

Yes, it’s a sad moment we all must face, when we finally get to that last French fry. Yet, it comes to us all; that moment when we must say goodbye to our super burger meal, with all its fat and calories. That last French fry is consumed, and all we have left are the memories.

There’s a sad finality to wadding up the wrappers, almost like burying your pet cockroach. To have to throw away the clothing which held that succulent juicy cholesterol burger, and those carbohydrate sticks we call fries. Letting them go is like saying goodbye to an especially close friend. Even so, this is a friends whom we get to take with us forever.

Maybe we should start naming our meals. Then, when we meet a friends who we haven’t seen for years, we don’t need to be embarrassed about our fat, we can instead introduce them to all our friends. “This here, that’s Marv, he was a triple burger I ate on the Fourth of July; and this over here, well, she was special; that was the three pound burrito I ate on New Year’s. Yeah, me and my friends here, we get along great. I’ve kept them safe and warm for a long time.”

Of course, naming every French fry might be a bit much. It would be hard to keep track of all those names. It might just be easier to name every roll of fat, like “the French fry hills” and “soft drink slope.” Yeah, that would be easier to remember. Then, they could all get together, like a little family.

You see, there’s no reason to get sad about that last French fry. Yes, your taste buds will have to say goodbye to them, but the rest of you can welcome them with open arms, welcoming them home to stay… forever.