I am sitting at hook hook fish and chicken. I don’t remember what the restaurant is actually called but have always referred to it as hook hook fish and chicken. You know the place. I’m getting gizzards because I didn’t pack a healthy lunch. Shrug. What can you do. Every time I walk into this establishment, I see the giant pickle jars on the counter, imagine they are filled with pee and poop – wasn’t that an In Living Color sketch? – and feel this mix of shame and repulsion that only worsens when I receive my gizzards, and see the styrofoam has melted beneath my food. That can’t be good, right?
But today, today I feel less shame than the last time, because the last time, I was pregnant.
Hey fruit fly, get away from my soda pop.