Knowing that the normalcy of food is going to change for me…I’ve set out on a Farewell To Food Tour. The only fan at my show is me. And I’m rockin’ out.

One week & one day until my Lap Band surgery. I’m more excited then anxious. I’ve been waiting 7 months for this. Well, actually 26-years. Could THIS actually be my answer? Could I finally succeed at the one thing I have never been able to succeed at? Could THIS be my answer. Finally!?

And so it goes. When I knew that in a short while I won’t be able to eat like I am used to, my brain began to crave. I know that the benefit outweighs the cost – whatever my many benefits and costs will be. I am logical enough to know that climbing a mountain and not getting winded far outweighs (no pun intended) the cost of not eating an entire cheeseburger. And Lord, I do love a good cheeseburger.

Speaking of cheeseburgers. My Farewell To Food Tour consisted of me making a list of some of the foods I want to eat before my surgery. Many of these foods I’ll be able to eat, in complete moderation, eventually. But even so, it won’t be the same. A few on my list: some dessert at Chocolate Pink, LaBella’s pizza, good BBQ from Swallow In The Hallow, a good cheesy Mexican enchilada and calamari. Calamari, as a matter of fact, is a food that most people, post operation, can never eat again. Has something to do with the consistency of it not doing well with your pouch. So calamari it was.

But it won’t be the same. Only tiny bites at a time. Very specific foods. Never over-eating. If you overeat, you’ll either throw up or get a feeling in your chest that many say feels like you’re having a heart attack. It only lasts a few minutes, but the feeling of it surely sends your brain a signal to not let it happen again.

So, one item on my list, which I am actually embarrassed to admit, is something I am not proud of, but I’ll just go ahead and say it. A Big Mac. You see, I have never, in my life, eaten a Big Mac. I’d never even considered it. I actually don’t even really like fast food. And to be honest, the idea of eating a Big Mac sort of made me feel sick. I’ve never even seen a Big Mac up close. But so it was. If I was ever going to try a Big Mac, I might as well Carpe Diem le Big Mac.

Drive thru. Mid-afternoon. Seriously wondering what I am doing. So many odd feelings going through my head. I pull up to the drive thru and I hear “Welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?” I felt like I was doing something really wrong. I can’t think and I say, “So, what’s the difference between a Big Mac and a Double Quarter Pounder With Cheese?” I don’t think the girl is used to questions, so I hear her ruffle through some manuals and start reading to me in a robot voice the difference between the two. Everything went in one ear and out the other, but I caught bits and pieces. Something about one has lettuce and tomato and the other has onions. One has 3 sesame seed buns and one has two. Oh, and I think the Big Mac has some sort of “special sauce” on it. If any of you have seen Dateline hidden camera investigations on fast food joints, I am sure you’re just like me – you don’t *really want to know what makes that sauce so special.

So I order a Big Mac. I figure I’d better order what they’re known for. This is never going to ever happen again. Driving around to the window I’m stuck behind a black truck. Moving slowly. I am actually having thoughts go through my head like, “Oh my God, I hope nobody sees me here!” I’m looking around my shoulder left and right to make sure I don’t see an old boss or a new friend. Or, worse yet, my Doctor.

This must be how it feels when you pick up a prostitute, I thought. It’s a strange combination of paranoia and excitement. Anticipation and anxiety. Just don’t get caught like Charlie Sheen.

To all those Big Mac lovers out there – this need not offend you. My ex couldn’t believe when were were dating that I had never eaten a Big Mac before. To me, it was so odd and strange that it was a regular menu item when she went to McDonalds. Maybe to me, I had just spent my entire life watching what I ate, so for those rare fast food moments, I usually tried to get the most simple of the choices. It’s insane to me to think most people eat fast food every day or weekly. Most Americans have probably eaten more than one Big Mac. But me. Never. It just wasn’t even an option for my conscience.

And so, I pull around and roll down my window. I hand the worker a crisp five dollar bill and get change back. “Wow,” I think to myself, “This stuff really is cheap.” You really can get a burger and fries and a soda for less than five dollars! I could have supersized for a few extra cents but figured I would be pushing my luck.

My guilt (or maybe the odd similarity between a sliding drive-thru window and a confessional) makes me feel like confessing to the McDonalds employee, “I swear! This is seriously my first time ever ordering one of these! I never even thought about it until I decided to get weight loss surgery. And because of that, I wanted to eat something I had never had and never will again. Please, ma’am, have mercy on my soul (and waistline). Please forgive me for this sin which I am about to commit.”

Now I know how a Catholic feels.

I quickly decide to not confess my cheeseburger sin to the part-time employee who is probably just waiting for her shift to end. She hands me my bag. I feel like a kid who just got a huge bag of candy from the cool neighbor on Halloween. I drive home with total curiosity and excitement. I ride up the 19 floors to my apartment and eagerly open my door, ignoring the fact that I need to feed my cat and water my plants and unload the dishwasher. All that was a fog. I sit on my recliner and open my treasure chest which beholds the magic of my Big Mac. The side of the cardboard Big Mac container had some graphic design of some kid skateboarding. Next to it are the calorie and fat contents. Is this really necessary? It’s like putting the Surgeon General warning on cigarettes. If someone is stupid enough to smoke a pack and be unaware of the side-effects, well, in my opinion, their genes should simply not reproduce and populate our planet anyway.

Alas, I open my little treasure chest and pause to look at my Big Mac. “Oh, that’s what one looks like.” It was one of those rare moments when you are inside and outside yourself all at the same time. Like when you lost your virginity and are completely in the moment but also catch yourself thinking, “Oh, so this is what it’s like…This is what one looks like up close.”

I hold my Big Mac in my two hands – a recommendation on the box from the trusted team at McDonalds.

I sit back and Carpe Diem le Big Mac.

And I have to admit. That sauce was somethin’ special.