By Brett Topel
It is not an original thought, apparently, but it is no less powerful. The McRib is the girl you will always love—but can never seem to hang on to. A similar stance to this was recently taken in The Washington Post, in an article entitled: “The McRib is a toxic boyfriend, and we need to stop backsliding.” However, like a lost love—the McRib, I fear—is an addiction of sorts.
Let’s immediately rid ourselves of the elephant in the room. Many of you reading this are disgusted by the very thought of the McRib, McDonald’s processed pork patty with fake rib markings, pickles, onions, and BBQ sauce, on a long bun. For those of you who are grossed out by the thought of the McRib, much less trying one, none of this is for you. Please move along to reading something about the Kardashians or politics or something. This is not for you.
For those of you who are still reading, I get it. She appeared one night when you least expected it. You were young and she was something new. You had no intention of making this anything more than a fun experience. You went for it and you fell for it—you fell hard. You enjoyed it day after day, night after night, and then—in the blink of an eye, she was gone. Not just gone like we can text for a while and still be friends, but gone gone.
You learned to move on and focus on other things. Friends, family, maybe your job. You had fleeting memories that would come and go. Sometimes you might be at a BBQ, or walk into a restaurant, and there was a smell that reminded you of her. Of course, you had to snap yourself back into reality because you knew she was gone. You would even go to where she was from and order other friends, like a filet-o-fish, or Big Mac, proving that you could still go back there and wondered if she might somehow be there. She never was. Until she was.
A few years after disappearing, she was back—but only for a limited time. You told yourself that that chapter of your life was over and that you would not get sucked back in by who she was and how she made you feel. However, that was what you told people. At night, you would drive by, and drive-thru, and re-establish long-lost feelings and tastes. She was back in your life, even though you knew every minute with her would just make it harder when she left again. And she would leave again. She always left again.
Time after time—sometimes it took two years, sometimes, four years, sometimes longer—she would return as if she had never left. She was so wrong for me. Everyone said so—my family, my friends, my doctors. However, all of the logic in the world could not stop me from wanting more—just one more time. Just one more night.
And now, here she is again. Nearly 40 years since we first met and she is no less alluring. Like other times, she threatens that when she leaves this time it will be for good. I know better. She knows better. She is McRib and she will always own a part of me.
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