Junky Tuesday
Originally published on McSweeney’s here, very long ago. Scroll way down if you want to read it on that site, or just read it here. True story.
During the course of my son Ali’s life, I’ve learned about trans fats and pesticides and things my mother did wrong. So I eat fresh organic berries and drink pomegranate juice and don’t buy sugary cereals. One afternoon, though, I picked Ali up from kindergarten, swung my station wagon into a spot at the mainstream grocery store, slid my pregnant body out from the tight space behind the wheel, and, as I opened his door, announced, “It’s Junky Tuesday.”
As we approached the store, the glass door swung open with reverence. We skirted the produce section and targeted the snack-food aisle. I chose spicy Cheetos. He chose Doritos. We agreed on Funyuns. Into the cart went a box of Swiss cake rolls, a tub of mini glazed donuts, and a six-pack of ginger beer.
At home, we turned on the Food Network (a compromise between General Hospital and The Magic School Bus) and spilled one of the ginger beers on the futon. When we were a third of the way through the Cheetos and Doritos and halfway through the Funyuns and had eaten a couple of donuts and split one package of the cake rolls, we couldn’t eat anymore. I heaved myself up and vomited a bit, and Ali retired to his bathroom with a long book. We’ll do it again sometime.
