Yesterday I had a milk shake from Steak and Shake and I remembered my first trip out after getting out of the hospital nearly 3 years ago. My parents asked if I wanted to go to McDonald's and I, of course, said yes. To me, food was food. It never occurred to me how something as inconsequential as a visit to a restaurant could throw me. I ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a milkshake. What they gave me was a cheeseburger, crispy things they called fries, and this pink swirly thing in a clear, plastic cup. WHAT WAS THIS?!? WHERE WERE THE SOGGY, OIL SOAKED VAGUELY FRENCH FRY SHAPED STICKS OF MY YOUTH? AND.....YOU CALL THIS THING A MILKSHAKE?!? I was horrified.
Milk shakes from McDonald's were supposed to be perfectly blended masses in a white paper cup so hard to suck through the straw that it collapsed in on itself with the force of trying to draw a minuscule amount of deliciousness into your waiting mouth. Not prettily swirled color/flavor syrup pseudo mixed into the vanilla base, in a clear cup, with whipped cream and a cherry like they thought they were a fancy ice cream parlor, and so soft it came up through the straw without any effort whatsoever. AND IT TASTED TERRIBLE. Well, in comparison to what I was expecting anyway. They were just trying too hard, and it was just one more thing that had changed.
McDonald's broke my heart that day. They proved to me that nothing was safe from the huge changes that were life now compared to the childhood I was forced to relive. Sadly, the only thing that was the same was the cheeseburger, and quite frankly I never liked them much, but the chicken nuggets growing up were worse so I chose a cheeseburger that day. Oh the woes of not knowing better at the time.
Oh the deliciousness of my youth, sorta.