Grubs

Tonight we swung by Burger King to grab a nutritionally balanced meal before our childbirth class. I wish I could say I thoroughly enjoyed my burger and fries, but I can't. Because I didn't.

As we drove off (me behind the wheel), I snatched a fry out of the bag and bit into it. OH. MY. GROSS. As I chomped down on one end of the fry, the opposite end of the fry literally EXPLODED OFF and splattered all over the window. Splattered. "How does a fry splatter?", you ask?

It doesn't.

It wasn't a fry. It was a grease filled something or other that reminded me of the grubs and bugs I have seen Bear Grylls take a hunk out of and squirt half way across the Amazon rain forest. OH. GROSS. And that was my dinner.

As if the exploding juiced-up fry wasn't bad enough, when I got home, I opened my hamburger bun to find a chunk taken out of the patty. A bite-shaped chunk. Really. It happened. Being the grouchy, starved, and crazed pregnant woman that I was by that time, I ripped off the piece of patty in question and choked down the rest.

Then we left for class. With a spoon and a mug full of milk and Lucky Charms.

And now that I've filled you in with the riveting tale of my latest fast food experience, I have to ask:

Is it Friday yet?