Youth and French Fries

My Story: Take Two

The whole concept of a "story" is overwhelming, when you think about it. In truth I find it impossible to define myself with a simple hodge-podge of words typed on a computer. Because personality and character (or what have you) are often fleeting. People change. Stories change. What makes me who I am today will be altered long before the words fade away.

My faith in this alterable state of identity has firm roots. I can sum up one such root in two words: French Fries. (Bonus points for any one who said "Frawnch Fries" a la Jenny Meyer).

I feel I can suggest this with certainty because I can distinctly remember a 22 year-old version of myself doing something incomprehensible:

Picture in your mind a drive-through. Not just any drive-through, THE drive-through. A heavenly assortment of all things fried and greasy at your fingertips...the options are limitless.

Now, picture me ordering the following:

One small fries.

And. Nothing. Else.

"NO!", you shout, "It's not true!"

My dear friends...I tell no lie. But, it gets worse. I also remember eating most of those sinfully delicious fries and suddenly declaring myself FULL!

Incredible. Unbelievable. And thoroughly NOT the 2010 Amy we all know and love. Because as much as I feel I am betraying my devout viewership of "The Biggest Loser", I simply cannot accept that food is nothing more than fuel. If God didn't want us to enjoy it, why'd he make it TASTE SO GOOD?

So believe me when I tell you: if I could shout out to that younger version of myself as she stood pondering her menu choices, I would harass her to order the # 6 Combo with large fries and a Diet Coke, and tell her to relish it while the metabolism is still working in her favor.

See? People change. It's a cold, hard, french-fry-hoarding truth.