Surprisingly—or perhaps not surprisingly if you know me well—I have some more thoughts on hot dogs. More specifically, I have a brief snapshot of hot dog love to share with you.
Picture it: St. Louis, June 12, 2010.
No, let me back up.
Picture it: a gas station on Roosevelt in Wheaton before I hit the road to St. Louis. I had a wedding to go to, and I was leaving just before lunchtime. That morning, I'd run a 5k in my best time ever so I fully deserved a gas station hot dog.
My self-reward system is unique, I know. I switch between rewarding myself with bad-for-me food and high-end cookware. The next time I get a raise, I'm going for Le Creuset. Or a funnel cake, haven't decided which yet.
I was about to buy my hot dog when the guy at the gas station tried to use his wiley salesman skills by saying, “Oh but miss, the hot dogs are 2 for $2.00. Are you sure you don’t want another one?”
I will not tell you how seriously I debated this.
Then later, around dinner time in St. Louis, I was driving from the wedding ceremony to the reception—a dessert-only reception. {Chocolate fountain. I think that’s all I need to say on that topic.}
The QT gas station sign was what did it: they were having a 2 for $2.00 deal, too. I’d let that opportunity pass me by once already, and I am nothing if not committed to a good deal and processed meats.
Now picture it: I’m in a dress from White House Black Market—a dress that should’ve cost $170.00, but I got it on sale for $40.00. This dress makes me feel a lot like Laura Petrie from The Dick van Dyke Show and a little bit like Grace Kelly as a brunette.
Classy.
And I’m having a one-girl hot dog eating contest.
Shoving it in—no time to chew. I have a chocolate fountain and eight kinds of cupcakes waiting for me across town. This is no time to worry about chewing.
I am careful, though. Those hot dogs are dripping with ketchup and mayonnaise, and I even used some of those chopped onion packets.
{Note to self: never use those again. I may be able to put up with fake meat, but I can’t stand overly processed onions.}
One drop of ketchup and there goes my Laura/Grace feeling and I’m back to being a girl on a road trip, justifying her third hot dog of the day.
Classic.
Picture it: St. Louis, June 12, 2010.
No, let me back up.
Picture it: a gas station on Roosevelt in Wheaton before I hit the road to St. Louis. I had a wedding to go to, and I was leaving just before lunchtime. That morning, I'd run a 5k in my best time ever so I fully deserved a gas station hot dog.
My self-reward system is unique, I know. I switch between rewarding myself with bad-for-me food and high-end cookware. The next time I get a raise, I'm going for Le Creuset. Or a funnel cake, haven't decided which yet.
I was about to buy my hot dog when the guy at the gas station tried to use his wiley salesman skills by saying, “Oh but miss, the hot dogs are 2 for $2.00. Are you sure you don’t want another one?”
I will not tell you how seriously I debated this.
Then later, around dinner time in St. Louis, I was driving from the wedding ceremony to the reception—a dessert-only reception. {Chocolate fountain. I think that’s all I need to say on that topic.}
The QT gas station sign was what did it: they were having a 2 for $2.00 deal, too. I’d let that opportunity pass me by once already, and I am nothing if not committed to a good deal and processed meats.
Now picture it: I’m in a dress from White House Black Market—a dress that should’ve cost $170.00, but I got it on sale for $40.00. This dress makes me feel a lot like Laura Petrie from The Dick van Dyke Show and a little bit like Grace Kelly as a brunette.
Classy.
And I’m having a one-girl hot dog eating contest.
Shoving it in—no time to chew. I have a chocolate fountain and eight kinds of cupcakes waiting for me across town. This is no time to worry about chewing.
I am careful, though. Those hot dogs are dripping with ketchup and mayonnaise, and I even used some of those chopped onion packets.
{Note to self: never use those again. I may be able to put up with fake meat, but I can’t stand overly processed onions.}
One drop of ketchup and there goes my Laura/Grace feeling and I’m back to being a girl on a road trip, justifying her third hot dog of the day.
Classic.
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