You Want It Big?

I made the bold decision to go to McDonald's for lunch today. Sometimes you just crave it. I broke with conviction and made my way the whole block to the colorful establishment.

On the menu, the Quarter Pounder looks enourmous. It looks like there are two levels of meat. Shelves of delicious beef and cheese, slathered in pickles. I thought that perhaps I should order something smaller.

I get up to the counter to order and the girl asks, "You want it big?"
I said, "Do I want what big?"
"Your food."
"Yes?"
She looks at me.
"No."
"No, you don't want it big?"
"No. No, I do not want it big."

I walk out feeling that familiar guilty feeling whenever I'm holding a bag from McDonald's. It's like I'm walking back to work carrying a dead baby. I've just been to the fast food chain that may as well say, "You Can Buy Crack Here and Feel Awful About It" on the sign.

But alas, I'm enjoying my Quarter Pounder immensely. And no, it's not shelved with meat. I should've ordered it Big.