The Monday Muse. Skinny Fry.

You will have to excuse my meandering mind again today. As I was laid face down on a surgeon’s table this morning, I couldn’t help but wish I was sat on the riverside bench that the boy and I had perched on just 20 hours previously with two portions of chips and a can of Dr. Pepper. I’ve always loved what we Brits can do with a potato, but I hadn’t sampled the magic for at least six months.

So as I studied the speckles of a blue vinyl floor, I started reminiscing about chips…

 

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Skinny Fry.

I was a fussy eater until I was around 25 years old. As a kid, I was often left sitting at the dinner table long after everyone else had finished, staring at a plate filled with greens.

I would long for a portion of fries.

My Dad used to tell me I’d turn into a chip. I used to think it wouldn’t be as bad as turning into a cauliflower or a piece of broccoli. At least I could be a supermodel skinny fry with a French accent.

 

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Day 90.

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Nothing like a plateful of beefcake to conquer whilst in the midst of long lunch, although I hadn’t trained my brain, or my mouth, for such a serving. Yes that is a girly nibble and a lipstick stained bun. #100happydays #day90

Day 88.

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Homer Simpson’s life love after beer and his blue haired wife. The love of my life for a mere moment of this rain sopped bank holiday Monday. #100happydays #day88

Day 86.

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The French do cuisine and cocktails very well, but when it comes to friends the English are masters. #100happydays #day86

Day 74.

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Dinner time never looked so fine as in the Feasey Thomas household where gold reigns supreme and every meal feels like a banquet. Happiness can be unearthed in the most monotonous of objects. #100happydays #day74