Super Buffet, or "Oops! Did We Really Eat That Much?"

I was a bit tired today after shaking my dainty little booty at last night's annual Tropical Heat Wave extravaganza, which is really the place to go if you want to listen to a variety of loud music, drink beer with aging hippies and make fun of pimply teenagers.

To recover from the anxiety of crowd squishing, I decided to join my friend Carlos The Puerto Rican With A Twist for a little light Sunday brunch at the Super Buffet.

As everyone knows, the buffet is an American institution-- the bigger the better, and with a national status somewhere up there with Cars, Mom and Apple Pie. If you have never eaten at a buffet, you are un-American, and quite possibly a French Communist as well.

The Super Buffet, or as I like to call it, the Food Pornography Buffet, was chock full of Chinese-Italian-Japanese-Mongolian cuisine and jello. They had everything from sushi, spinach lasagna and egg rolls to chilled crab claws, stir fry, chocolate pudding and General-Something-Or-Other Chicken with fried rice.

We ate and ate and ate and ate. In fact, we ate for America. But not quite as much as the other diners did, I'm afraid. Carlos and I would have eaten more, but we were afraid that the other diners would eat us if we loitered for too long. So we fearfully waddled out the door.

I didn't eat for the rest of the day. In fact, I'm never eating again.

***
My fortune cookie for today read: "Don't expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational!", which is certainly food for thought. Of course, it could have just read: "Don't expect romantic attachments whatsoever!", which is certainly likely.

Good Night