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Last Friday I exploited the Labor Day weekend and went to NY.

As you know I am a huge fan of traveling, however, flying has recently become a bit of a hassle.

In my youth, I was capable of downing six hotdogs and riding Tower of Terror until the cows came home without a hint of nausea.

Now, if I look at a banana with a brown spot before taking Syd the Hybrid to the grocery store, I get motion sickness.

Don’t ask me why.

When I get that kind of sick, the only thing that helps is salt. Unfortunately, I can’t eat a saltine and call that George. I have to eat salt en masse in order to feel better which usually means eating something that will kill my diet and force me to run until the cows come home. Typically, my nausea fighting food of choice is french fries. For some reason the salty french fries kill the nausea.

Perhaps it’s a mind over matter thing.

Or a tummy over good sense thing.

When Kira picked me up from La Guardia, I was fighting a bad case of nausea. My stomach felt like it was in my throat and for some reason, all I could taste was kielbasa. I don’t remember the last time I had kielbasa. Actually, I do. It was in the 90’s at my Aunt Valerie’s house. Apparently, some of it is still lingering in my digestive system. You see why I have issues with meat?

I hopped in Kira’s truck and noticed that it was littered with food wrappers.

“I’m having a fat girl day,” she said. “I’ve got the hunger.”

“Do you have anything salty?” I asked. “I get motion sickness now. Salt usually helps.”

“We could get some french fries.”

Now you must know that ever since school started my exercise regimen has been a little lax. I go to school 3 nights a week which means I only have Thursday-Sunday to work out. Unfortunately, I’m as tired as a turtle in a triathlon by the time I get to Thursday so my work outs aren’t as hard-core as they used to be. This means that I have to be very strict about what I eat. I also make an effort to not eat past 7:30.

If I had known that fries were going to be an option at 10:30 I would have taken precautions. I would have eaten a fruit salad and yogurt for lunch instead of pizza. Although that pizza was good. I wanted to wrap myself up in that pizza and live there.

I may have a bit of a food problem.

I was feeling really sick and could see no other option so I said, “We can get fries, but we have to share them.”

So we got Burger King at 11:00 on a Friday night.

And it was good.

We inhaled our french fries at a speed that would have put Superman to shame and continued our drive to Kira’s house. We were about 15 minutes from home when Kira said, “Man, I really want some McDonald’s fries.”

“We just had Burger King!”

“I know, but McDonald’s fries taste different,” she said. “There’s a McDonald’s on the way home. Let’s do this.”

At this point, we were in the wake of the McDonald’s. The golden arches were calling me home. Just as we pulled into the parking lot, Kira said, “Did you have dinner? We could get some chicken nuggets too.”

To this I replied, “No! Can we not be those kinds of fat girls who pull through multiple drive thrus in the dead of night? I just got down to my ideal weight and I would like to stay there. We’ll have to run like the devil tomorrow to work off two orders of fries!”

Kira looked at me and then began to laugh hysterically. She then reached over and pulled a french fry out of my hair.

“Oh screw it. Let’s get fries.”

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