I’m currently living the highlife at my parents house. I was supposed to move to New York in May, so I got rid of my Boston apartment, but then NYC got pushed to September and I became homeless.
I don’t say highlife jokingly. Did you know you can order ondemand movies at this place and they don’t charge you? They do your laundry, too. It’s like a free hotel. But the best part is that there’s alllllways leftovers in the kitchen. Every morning I wake up, do a little blogging, then come down and see what people ordered and/or made for dinner last night. Well, today I came downstairs and discovered this
My heart jumped for joy. “What could it be,” I wondered? Cheesy bread! Hopefully cheesy bread! Wait. No. Mozzarella sticks! Please be mozzarella sticks!
You know what it was?
Fucking leftover french fries. I’ve had relatives die and iPhone screens crack, never have I felt a sinking feeling like I did when I opened that box. It was a cardiovascular devastation.
What kind of MONSTER orders french fries with pizza and then leaves them there in the oven, overnight, without any kind of note? French fries with pizza is fucking insane enough. You’ve got endless, delicious carbs at your fingertips. Cheesy bread, breadsticks, mozzy sticks, kickers, garlic bread. You’ve got lava cakes and cinnastix for dessert. What would posses one to order bland, boring, empty carbs when there are exciting ones filled with such zest and fat readily available? Why? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?
On top of it all, you save them, as if french fries don’t have the life expectancy of a goldfish out of water? Leave them out there like a poo dollar in order to get my hopes up then tear me down when I realize I’ve been duped? Fucking disgusting. At least put a note on it, like a hazardous waste symbol, and warn me of the contents. I’m so mad about this I might move out of my parents house just to prove a point.