One Happy Meal, Hold the Guilt

My schedule is often frenetic and as such, I don't eat as well as I should. Depending on rehearsal schedules, I'm often searching for a quick bite in between rehearsals or workshops or photo shoots or whatever else is going on.

So it was that I happened to find myself in downtown Phoenix with 20 minutes to spare before my next call time. My choices were a Subway, Taco Bell or McDonald's. I should have gone for the Subway, but I was in my sweaty rehearsal clothes and I didn't want to offend anyone within the scent range. The drive-thru line at Taco Bell wrapped completely around the building, so I continued down the road to where I knew there was a McDonald's. I didn't fare much better there as it was the peak of the lunch hour, but I glanced at the mostly-empty inside and opted to park and walk in without fear that I'd be smashed up against a counter in close proximity of the innocent.

Now, I can't eat a whole lot before a dance rehearsal or a show. It's a bit of a change from my younger years. (During my run of Victor/Victoria, I would regularly consume a bacon double-cheeseburger, fries, large Coke and 3 eggrolls between double shows. By myself. No joke.) Just the thought of that now makes me want to yak. And... over the years, my body has decided to take the route of 'tough love' in reminding me vehemently that I shouldn't overeat before I abuse it.

I also suffer from an addiction to potatoes. It is something I believe was handed down by my Irish ancestors through many generations. No less than twice a week, I want one. I don't care if it's french fried, baked, mashed, hashed, herbed or au gratin. I gotsta have my root.
This was one such day.

And because the chicken snack wrap and fries would cost more than just getting a Happy Meal, I opted for the latter. It wasn't until I had ordered from the apathetic teen girl behind the counter that her expression became (dare I say) suspicious. I've ordered Happy Meals for my kids tons of times... but not recently. It made me nostalgic for the days when the kids were younger.
I realized with more than a little awkwardness that I (an adult) was ordering a kid's meal. For me. My mind justified it with, "This girl doesn't know I don't have a kid at home waiting for his or her Happy Meal. Single females walk in and order a Happy Meal every day." I made eye contact and she must have seen the doubt in my eyes because she cocked her head to one side, smacked her lips and said, "Do you want the toy?"
I hung my head and muttered a quiet "no".

I paid and got out of there as quick as I could.

They gave me the toy anyway.