Delusions of Potato...

Six months ago, I made a dietary lifestyle change. I stopped eating all fast food, all fried food, all sugar sweetened drinks (which has now come to include all soft-drinks, including diet), and modified from white bread/pasta to whole grain varieties. I’ve been pretty good about sticking to the diet. One thing I have been adamant about has been NO FRENCH FRIES. In the beginning, that was the hardest. I would be driving home from my Dale Carnegie class late at night, and pass by two McDonalds, a Hardees, a Burger King, and Wendy’s, and would want to them so badly. Going anywhere was a challenge, because all I could think about was the crispy salty fries drowned in ketchup. Eventually, the cravings passed, and now I can face down fries and not be tempted.

Two weeks ago, I dreamt of French fries. Two separate dreams, each including friends and family members that I love, as well as fried potatoes of some variety.

The first dream, I was in a diner with JoDee, Craig, and a nameless/faceless guy. You know the kind of diner I’m talking about—all bright white, red vinyl seats, chrome trim—the kind of place you see on TV. We were at a table, and being a diner, this place served normal diner food—burgers, fries, and shakes. Sticking to my diet, I ordered a baked potato. When the waitress came back, she gave everyone their order, and in front of me, she placed a big white platter of assorted fried potatoes— French fries, those little crunchy hash rounds that fast food places serve with breakfast, and fried potato wedges. I looked at my plate, looked at the waitress, and told her that I couldn’t eat that. I ordered a baked potato because I gave up fried foods. She apologized and told me that they didn’t serve baked potatoes. Even though she told me there would be no charge, she left the plate of sin on the table, and told my co-diners that they could help them selves. At this point, nameless/faceless guy next to me reaches over, picks up the entire plate, covers it with ketchup and begins to devour it.



Later that night was dream number two. I was at my parents’ house. It was spring, sunny but brisk. My brother and mom are with me. My brother is doing something car repair related, and my mom is sitting in the driver seat. I’m standing outside, holding a paper plate covered with French fries and ketchup. Trying to not break my diet, I yell, “I don’t know whose fries these are, but they had better get over here and take them, or I’m going to start eating them.” I then eat a fry. My brother comes over, and I say, “Great, now look what you made me do! I have to eat them all now.” Then I woke up.

I’m no dream interpreter, but I would think it’s safe to assume that I want sex. Wait, I mean, French fries. Yeah, maybe I should lean towards the French fry answer.

Anyways, I was telling my mom about the dreams, and after I finished telling her about the second one that she’s in, she pauses and asks, “What kind of fries were they?” And I’m like, “What do you mean? Weren’t you listening? They were French fries.” And she was like, “No, I mean, what KIND of French fries? Like steak fries? McDonald’s fries? Curly Fries?” To be honest, they were those crinkly-cut fries that you buy in ball park concession stands at little league games. Kind of gross, I know, but hey— French fries are all the same, right?