Monday, February 8, 2010
So my little hot dog idea (which is awesome for most people) acquainted me with a long forgotten memory. I HATE hot dogs. I forced myself to eat beyond my comfort level as I began to pine over all the ingredients I had just purchased, (beef hot dogs literally make me gag...woops), shopping up each isle (hmmmm do I already have some Gray Poupon)? Hoofing them home (last time I nearly broke my hip when the seams of my brown bag ripped open pouring my eggs from the gaping hole, causing me slip across the ice like a new born giraffe), cooking time (fresh dressings, bacon fried crisp, sloppy Joe for your bacon fried frank?). The first three bites into my sculpture of frankfurter food were heavenly...until...ahgg..I began to shove the over-sized hoagie stuffed with floor meat and fat, mayo flavored with pickles and garlic, ketchup, and mustard against my bull headed teeth, fighting to save the tongue and belly from the irritation it would later cause (I am having hot sweats from the flashbacks). Finally three bites from the end my brain, mouth, and belly aligned. I set the dog down and walked away. I HATE hot dogs!