If you know me, you know that I'm hungry, like, all the time. I'm talking from the moment I get out of bed in the morning to the moment I go to sleep at night, there's an 87 percent chance that I'm thinking about my next meal. The other 13 percent is usually reserved for dog poop and wedding seating arrangements. That's what my life has become. Food, dog poop, and wedding seating arrangements.
Anyway. Since I run a lot (and also because I lack a thing most people like to call "self control"), I pretty much let myself eat whatever I want whenever I want, to an extent, because you don't want to cross me when I'm hungry.
When I'm jonesin' for some munchies for more than 30 minutes at a time, my head starts to hurt and I usually start to feel a little woozy. I would totally suck at being a third world child because I absolutely would have eaten my younger brother by now. Desperation knows no bounds when all you can think about it a giant plate of spaghetti you're about to face plant into as soon as you get home from work.
So last night, when B and I decided to push dinner back a few hours so we could take Rooney to the dog park, I knew I'd have to be exercising some major self control to get myself to dinner time. Naturally, when we were finally driving home from the park an hour later, I was so hungry I couldn't think straight.
We decided B would drop me off at home so I could bathe the dog who had spent a good portion of his time at the park rolling in dog shit, while he went to Chipotle and picked up some massive burritos STAT. I wrote down exactly what I wanted AND FOR THE LOVE OF GAH HURRY, MAN. AND DON'T FORGET THE CHIPS. Like I said, food and dog poop. And seating arrangements.
When B got back, he was smiling smugly and was all "there is no way you are ever going to eat even half of this burrito." And I was all "WATCH ME" because by then everything was going dark and I'm pretty sure I could hear Michael Jackson's angelic voice telling me to just close my eyes and step into the light.
And now I really wish I had taken a picture of the two burritos to compare them because mine was literally twice the size and four times the weight of B's, easily. But I didn't take a picture because I was too busy devouring it like a starving hyena devours a day-old antelope caracass as soon as B placed it on the table.
I assure you, this is no exaggeration. That burrito weighed as much as a small child. A small, warm, delicious smelling child filled with chicken and corn and rice and guacamole and sour cream and lettuce and onions and green peppers and crack cocaine because when I bit into that burrito, it was like biting into a rainbow filled with puppies and unicorns.
And I ate the whole thing. And then I ate the bag of chips B also brought home. And then I decided to make cookies because it was possible that there might be a millimeter of space left in my stomach that wasn't taken up by crack cocaine rainbow puppy unicorn. And half a bowl of cookie dough and two cookies later, I couldn't move. I had finally eaten myself into a near coma. Like I said, utter lack of self control.
Hello my name is Bridget, and I am a gluttonous Fatty McFatterson.