The smell of KFC

is like a siren song to me when I'm pregnant. I normally don't eat at KFC, but for some reason the cocktail of hormones coursing through my body makes it like haute cuisine. To summarize, on Friday afternoon, I stopped to put gas in the car. It happens that the gas station is next to a KFC and the wind was blowing just right, so the scent of KFC wafted over to where I was standing. It reminded me of those cartoons, where the scent of something is visible and has a finger beckoning one to follow it to its source.

So that put the idea in my head. I've been obsessed with it since then, and I finally fulfilled my desire today. It's not so much the chicken itself as the side dishes. I ate my cole slaw, my mashed potatoes, my biscuit, and Julian's coleslaw as well. I know that all that stuff comes out of a big tub somewhere and is probably horrible for you. But it was good while it lasted, and my KFC craving is out of the way.