The lovely Mrs. McKinley and I gave up regular visits to fast food restaurants several years ago, save for an annual pilgrimage to the source of Shamrock Shakes around St. Patrick’s Day. We don’t exactly keep ourselves on the dietary straight and narrow (no one has ever accused me of being “narrow”), but we do try to eat our fruits and our vegetables and our whole grains and for the most part steer clear of significant servings of those foods which dietary zealots, not to put too fine a point on it, refer to as “poisons.” But now and then I am seized with the urge Jimmy Buffett sings about in “Cheeseburgers in Paradise.” I feel a compulsion to pull into a fast food outlet just up the street from our house and order a giant cheeseburger, a mega order of fries (supersize that, please), and a large chocolate shake.
Well shucks. I understand that if I were to do that now, the Ham Burglar and the clown himself would more or less come out and get in my face telling me I shouldn’t order the meal of my dreams. This would take some of the fun out of it. Of course they wouldn’t really assault me like that, but in the place I’m talking about … you know the one I mean … they are now posting the calorie counts for every item on the menu, right next to the prices. (Is that $4.50 and 600 calories, or 450 calories and $6.00?)
Let me break it to you, Mayor McCheese. I already know that this meal is going to provide me with enough calories to nourish your average marching band. I’ve come to terms with that. I really don’t need your nagging. If I feel like eating it, I’m going to eat it anyway. (Why don’t you supersize that shake, too?) The do-gooders of the world can cluck their tongues all they want. I eat my share of nuts and berries and twigs and all that stuff. Now and then….
Find out what's happening in Eaganfor free with the latest updates from Patch.
This sort of thing creates a problem for me. You see, I would be a card-carrying liberal except for the fact that we liberals aren’t big on cards. I’m all for an activist government, and don’t mind paying taxes to support it. But now and then I identify with my libertarian neighbors with their laments about the “nanny state.” I’d like to be trusted to take care of myself in some areas, without the nannies and their government cronies breathing down my neck.
- I’d like to take a bike ride and not wear a helmet.
- I’d like to be able to stop into a cruddy bar, drink a beer, and light up a cigar. (Outlawing smoking in bars makes as much sense to me as outlawing sex in motels.)
- I’d like to think that my grandson might get to ride in the front seat of the car, wearing only a regular seat belt, before he turns 16.
- And I’d really, really like to enjoy that occasional cheeseburger without being told how many calories are in it.
I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.
