McDonald's French Fries

Never in a million years would I have thought I'd be grateful for McDonald's french fries but when I asked Jordi, in the last couple of days, what he might like to eat, during his lonely stay, in the hospital, he responded, "McDonald's french fries....the large ones and make that two".  So I happily trotted across the street.  There is a McDonald's on every street corner is there not?! The smell of that place is overwhelming; the combination of sugar, fat and salt, practically melts melds to the skin, as soon as you enter.  Everyone behind the counter has a bad case of acne (which proves my point) and they all looked as if they'd stepped out of their car seats days before.  When I ordered the "2 large fries" they wanted to know "will that be all?" as if I'd committed some sacrelig by not ordering an entire 'meal'.  When I walked into the hospital people stared.  They really did.  It was as though I had just transported a WMD.  I wanted to tell them that the fries "weren't for me.  They were for my husband who has been in the hospital six times, for blood infections, and that he'd already had two surgeries; one to remove a malignant tumor (but he didn't have cancer) and the other to remove the cause of his recurrent blood infections.  But that surgery didn't work.  So he's back in the hospital because he had two (not one) blood infections.  And that they really have no fucking idea where the infections are coming from.  That they've done every damn test and radiated and scanned him to what might be his death.  And he's really got a great appetite.  And the nurses keep commenting on how "healthy and funny he is."  And he is healthy and funny but the entire situation is far from funny.  But when he asks for french fries I am happy because I am able to do SOMETHING for him.