|There's the beef! (that's all I'd take)|
My dad wouldn't hear it. Real men eat everything! He bought me one of those Egg McMuffins every weekend when he had us, and every weekend I had to come up with ever more increasingly convoluted ways of removing the egg part without him knowing. Somehow, at some point, I had to pick off the egg and toss it with the wrappings when he wasn't looking. Yuck. I was also condiment-intolerant. If you were buying the eight-year-old me a hamburger, you'd be wise to just repeat the following into the drive through talkbox: "two all beef patties--hold the sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, oinions, ketchup, mustard--leave the sesame seed bun." Spare yourself the headache and make it simple, otherwise, "no thanks, you can have it."
Actually, I didn't mind the lettuce, cheese, and ketchup, but I wouldn't have missed them if they weren't there. And if it was hotcakes for breakfast, no syrup please. It was too sweet. Of course now I've refined my pallette, and I'll eat all this stuff--in fact, it almost seems it's the burger that gets left out of the condiment equation these days--pile it all on! My mom was a bit more subtle, and let us be picky, knowing that we'd come around eventually. So are you ready to experience life through the tastebuds of the eight-year-old me? If you are, remember, bland is better... especially when it comes with a tiny Hotwheels car.