“No Matter What They Take From me, They Can’t Take Away my KFC…”®

I’m ashamed to admit this, but since confession is good for the soul, I hope that this will help some other gluttonous gobbler see the light. This incident has been such a source of shame to me that not even Super Mr. C., my Steadfast Mister, knows of it. (Until now.)

Photo courtesy of Dreamstime

Here goes.

I am black. I am female. I’m something of a “goody-goody,” so I don’t smoke, drink, or do drugs. I do, however, have one major jones. I LOVE fried chicken. I really love fried chicken. I will go out of my way for it; not just a little bit, but a lot. It’s a stereotype, but I don’t care.

We rarely fry at home, so I don’t fry chicken. There are no fast-food outlets near us, and we don’t own a car, so getting to one is inconvenient. We can’t visit one on a whim. I get to indulge my appetite for that finger-licking goodness only twice a year. One is when my husband and I may be in a car and pass an outlet. The other is when I visit my mother in another state, who has a KFC® restaurant reasonably near her house. That’s it.

One day; one rainy day, I must stress, I had an uncontrollable craving (I almost wrote “crazing,” which is more accurate) for some KFC®. Uncontrollable crazing. My mouth was watering, which is a polite way of saying I was drooling like one of Pavlov’s dogs. No restaurant nearby. No car. Chilly, gray, and raining. Pre-COVID, so no home delivery. What to do?

Yield to taste-bud temptation, of course. I let fried chicken be the boss of me.

Image courtesy of Dreamstime

I called a cab, for which I had to spend money. I subjected my vulnerable, styled coif to the whims of the rain. I went to spend money on prepared food when I could have bought at least one bag of groceries for the same price. I was going to have to explain to my husband how that fried chicken aroma, aka “nostril nirvana,” was present in the house. I didn’t care. Out I went. I bought a five-piece dinner with an extra side of potato wedges. The moment I got home, I tore that box open and went all-out Caveman on two pieces and an order of wedges, and I hid the rest in our basement freezer.