Act Classy | Chick-fil-HEY! A Recovering Anorexic On Chick-fil-A Guilt

Chick-fil-HEY! A Recovering Anorexic On Chick-fil-A Guilt

Hey, Classy People of the Internet! I’m stressed, y’all. To be perfectly honest, I haven’t seen any legitimate source of news (Google News, Yahoo! News, a TV in a bar, a newspaper I steal for a pillow) in weeks. Right now, my Facebook feed is literally the only thing keeping me connected to society outside of the theatre. (I’m in three plays right now, because I like to numb my anxiety with workaholism). So maybe outside of Facebook people aren’t talking about Chick-fil-A nonstop? But most of the “news” I see is Chick-fil-A, and I have a big ol’ confession session to break down on you.

In high school, the bathroom door at my mom’s house was a confessional door. Isn’t that weird? OH, AND!

I’M CRAVIN’ CHICK-FIL-A, Y’ALL.

I’m a recovering anorexic. I have food issues connected to anxiety and guilt and shame and fear and self-worth and, and OMG, the SHAME. In treatment, they really tried to instill in our hearts that “All Food Is Good Food!” We need not fear fat or sugar or meat or fast food or non-organic things or whatever our “FEAR foods” might have been. I’m not endorsing or criticizing this system because I obviously don’t know how to cure an eating disorder or I would have done it myself, thankyouverymuch.

What I AM saying is that we went to Chick-fil-A for one of our weekly outings (we also got to go to Subway and McDonald’s, don’t be jealous), and I was well-trained enough by then to not speak up about HATE being one of my fear foods. Once, very shortly after I got home from treatment and started working again, my boss sent me to run errands and told me buy myself lunch with her credit card. I was near the Chick-fil-A, so I repeated to myself “All Food Is Good Food,” swung through the drive-thru, paid with her card, grabbed my weird food and remembered:

CRAP, my boss is a lesbian.

GUILT, SHAME. I ATE IT. But quietly. And never went back or even thought about going back. Until this thing exploded. Now, not only do I think about Chick-fil-A every time I’m hungry, I know I’ll feel shame if I eat it, and I’ll feel the need to confess to everyone I ate it because, SHUT UP! This has been a really weird week! I almost bought Chick-fil-A on the way home and was going to photograph it in a weird, morbid, I’m- sad-about-this-but-I’m-honoring-my-stomach way. But I got so twisted up about it that I didn’t stop anywhere. For the love of hormone-pumped chicken, can’t a girl get her shit together?!

Ummmm, kinda. SHIT.

Seriously, y’all, I gotta go work this out in my head. I’ve got a rehearsal and a show tonight and I refuse to go hungry. I’ll leave you with a few Chick-fil-isms.

Chick-fil-Gay: Buried deep inside of every hate-monger is a craving for a Chick-fil-Gay sandwich to fill them up.

Chick-fil-HEY! You gonna eat that? Your boycott is making me hungry.

Chick-fil-Stay away from politics and food and food politics and food policy legislation for awhile, Molly, you look nervous.

Chick-fil-Play. You guys, one of the characters in one of the plays I’m in talks about Chick-fil-A waffle fries. WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!?! DAMMIT!

About the Author

Molly Karrasch Molly Karrasch acts classy as an actor-ess in Austin, TX, often as a company member at austinplayhouse.com. She is also a producer of theatre, writer of ridiculousness, mother of boy, keeper of books and would never get anything done without Jay-Z. An enormous percentage of her time is spent trying to kick anorexia in the face. She once pulled a pocket knife on rapper Mack 10 in a mini-van in a Wal-Mart parking lot; RELAX, it was to HELP him.