The only way this next story would be at all moderately acceptable was if it started with my good self teetering and swaying on stiletto pumps clad in the latest Forever New bodycon dress after a night of dancing, squealing and boozing- at least this would give both cause and justification for the following story.
However, that is not how things transpired. Where I should have been wearing a bodycon, I was wearing pyjamas. Where should I be wearing stiletto’s, I was wearing slippers. And where I should have been drunk, I was sober as a judge.
“Could I please have a large quarter-pounder meal, with an extra quarter-pounder,” I said into the speaker.
Fortunately, I had my boyfriend in the car with me so it at least didn’t appear all this food was for one. We got back home with my bag of nitrates, preservatives and artificial colours – and a coke, mustn’t for get the coke (no ice, because I am that asshole). I ate, and you know what, without a shred of self-consciousness I say this: it was fucking delicious. But what you must understand is this: unless you are rip-roaringly drunk, your body can’t efficiently process all the artificial colours and preservatives in a double-sized serving of McDonalds, regardless of how delicious it may be.
And you won’t realize this until it’s already too late.
Far, far too late.
Unless you have a particular affinity for crying on the toilet, you may just want to trust me on this one.