Visiting Red Lobster early this afternoon, I found myself face to face with unlimited refillable shrimp and an increasingly limited stomach. Of course it has taken years of training, but I have successfully conditioned myself to ignore the primal instinct telling me to stop eating allowing for hours upon hours of hazardous gorging.
Teriyaki, popcorn, fried, and coconut, I was literally overwhelmed by the number of choices. Experimenting with the teriyaki shrimp on the side of the coconut (something I knew I liked), it really surprised me how delicious this new Asian zing was smothered on a shellfish.
After a few more refills of the teriyaki splashed shrimp, I once again was faced with another math problem; how much pressure could the seams of my pants take before ripping in proportion to the amount of refills I decided to ingest? Needless to say, it was time to go.
When I got home I sluggishly took my bike out to the Griffith Historical Park and swung around to the edge of the Highland path off 45th Street. Too drunk on seafood to take in the scenery, the entire experience was like riding on a wobbly boat just begging for the relief of a shark attack…
On the return ride home I was halted by two trains, which I looked at as gracious gifts from God, giving me brief moments of solace in between the nausea.
I considered it a great accomplishment having made it home without regurgitating my well spent $14.99.
Now safely in the house, laying down on the couch, I stared blankly up at the ceiling. The swirling white texture of the walls made me think of my leftover mashed potatoes.
…Mashed potatoes. Those sound good.