The Reality of Fast Food and Me

Am I everything I write about or do I dress it up to make me look nice?

Am I everything I say I am?

If you were to really see me, on the street or at, lets say, Blogher would you be like, “Yup that’s Lil’ Mom” or would you say, “that is not what I expected.” You expected my bacon to be crisper. My lettuce to be less wiltey, to stand up crisp on a bun. Or am I the sloppy, soggy hash brown in your breakfast burrito?

I really wonder if what goes on these pages is my true authentic self. I self-edit, I am so guilty of this. The one post that mattered to me, I quickly hid for no one to see. I scare easy. Afraid to look dumb or pathetic. I am an anxious, blubbering mess of melty cheese. I am now on Prozac. Trying to stay delicious and not run down your arm, like one hot mess of slobbering grease. Still good but it burns the arm.

What will it take for me. I really want to see you in person and not leave you scratching your head.

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