Deep fried Wednesday

I found myself on a streetcorner this afternoon, hungry, tired and longing to get back home and lounge on the couch for hours. It's a Wednesday, my least favorite day of the week. It sticks out right smack in the middle of the week, like a a big red pimple. You're kinda stuck between weekends, halfway between relishing the weekend past and looking forward to the one ahead. It's just awkward.

As I was about to get on a bus for that short ride home, I realized that I didn't have any change for the fare. So I decided to grab a bite, being hungry anyway. In my search for a quick meal, I spied an old favorite of mine, fried spring rolls. My feet were excitedly shuffling towards the stall and I got myself a bunch of them to take home with me. Just then, the girl on the stall beside the one with the spring rolls brought out a tray full of little brown paper bags, blots of oil dotting the exterior of each. I inquired what they were, and before the girl could answer, she brought out a sign announcing that deep-fried chicken skins were waiting in each small bag. I bought a couple of the suckers as well. My thoughts were now filled with crunchy, deep-friend delights to be dunked in spiced vinegar.

Just as I was to board a bus, the scent of burning garlic wafted into my nostrils and I froze in half-step. I turned around and another stall was busy with a boy making a batch of deep fried garlic peanuts. I fished out some more change and bought a small pouch of the newly cooked batch. At this point, I almost ran to the nearest bus to get away from the lure of other goodies that might catch my fancy.

I got home and promptly gorged on the small feast I got myself. I could almost feel the oil oozing out of each pore of my face with each bite, but I couldn't stop eating and listening to the crunch it made in my mouth. As soon as it was over, the dining table was a mess of flimsy plastic bags and oil blotted brown paper. I just sat there, wondering if there was a small morsel or two that I could have missed.

Before I could stand up and clean the table, the front door swung open and in came my sister, take-out bag in hand. She asked if I was hungry, if I wanted to eat the remains of her lunch. She laid the bag on the table and brought out a piece of deep fried chicken. It disappeared in the next 10 seconds.

I sat on the couch, satiated, sleepy and smiling.

Wednesdays aren't that bad after all.