There are a few restaurants that beckon me from afar. Take my go-to burger place, for example. Their burgers are cooked to perfection, and the hand-cut fries? Absolutely divine. However, there’s a catch: mere moments after indulging in my meal, I find myself racing to the restroom, as if the food possesses some magical ability to trigger my digestive system like nothing else.
It’s as if my body temporarily forgets how to function, and for a brief moment, I feel like I might just burst. Each time my “butt express” takes off, I find myself pleading with higher powers for mercy, swearing that I won’t put myself through this agony again. But deep down, I know I’ll return. The cravings are just too powerful, even when my kids chime in with, “Mom, that place makes you sick. Do we really have to go?” My desire for that food always triumphs over my digestive woes.
Just the other day, I paired a hefty fry with a bacon cheeseburger (why not go all out?), and everything felt fine — until a mere five minutes later. Suddenly, panic set in as I realized my “butt cookies” were about to make their grand exit. Denial didn’t help; I tried convincing myself that maybe the warm sun had lulled me into a false sense of security. Standing there, pretending to be engrossed in my phone didn’t work either. The inevitable was coming, and it was unstoppable.
I “accidentally” dropped my napkin, hoping to bend down and relieve some of the cramps that were building up, but it only made matters worse. My kids, fully aware of what was about to transpire, grabbed my keys and dashed toward the car. My youngest exclaimed, “Mom, go take care of that! I’ll refill your soda. Can we still get ice cream?”
While I was in the restroom, praying no one would knock and vowing never to return, I remembered all the times I’d subjected myself to this torture. Would this be the moment that finally convinced me to stick to my own kitchen where my chocolate Cheerios await? Probably not.
Even my favorite bagel shop does a number on me. After having birthed three kids, I once had to bring them into the restroom with me while wearing a jumpsuit — not my finest moment. Imagine being in that situation, with little ones around you, asking why your “boobies” are out as they touch everything in sight, then announcing to the entire restroom that they just witnessed their mom “pooping naked!”
And let’s not forget about my beloved sub shop. How can a veggie sub lead to such havoc? One moment, I’m hungrily ordering a foot-long, and the next, I’m barely able to stand as my stomach decides it’s time for a “foot-long exit.” Could it be the extra guacamole? I’m not giving up that creamy goodness, that’s for sure!
My cherished sesame chicken from the buffet also wreaks havoc, leaving me with a hefty bill and an insatiable craving for more. And the tacos from the local spot? Often, it feels like a wildfire is raging through my digestive tract afterward.
But those fleeting moments of discomfort aren’t enough to deter me from indulging in my favorites. Right now, I could easily devour a burrito, follow it up with a taco, and wash it down with some egg rolls and fried rice. Because after a trip to the restroom, I feel rejuvenated and ready for some soft-serve ice cream, the biggest culprit of them all. I adore a good Blizzard, scraping the cup clean, even knowing that shortly afterward, my stomach will feel like it’s been hit by a snowstorm.
In short, I’ll keep savoring my guilty pleasures, regardless of the aftermath. It’ll take more than a little digestive chaos to keep me away from my beloved bacon cheeseburgers, faux ice cream, and greasy delights. Who else is feeling peckish?
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In summary, despite the humorous havoc my favorite restaurants wreak on my digestive system, the allure of their delicious food keeps me coming back for more. Cravings often trump discomfort, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.