I'm (not) lovin' it

You know what? Maybe the whole post-a-day thing is growing on me. I figure, it will give me a chance to get all these odds-and-ends out there that I wouldn't have considered worthy of an entire post before. I guess that should come with a disclaimer that in the next 30 days, it's gonna be a real mixed bag. But, you get what you pay for, and as long as blogs are free, well...at least you won't have to ask me for your money back!

So, here's today's thing to make you go hmmmm. Please examine with me the following laboratory specimen:

This, my friends, is what they hand you when you order a humble Happy Meal at the Trastevere McDonald's. You'll all remember what a Happy Meal consists of, no?

1) Cheeseburger
2) Small french fries
3) Small soda (or pop if your parents are from Detroit like mine are)
(3a) Toy, as you'll see below)

Ok, so, what's the deal with the whole shopping bag thing? You see how I put a little jar of mayo next to the bag to give you a point of comparison? People, is the gigantor-ness of it all really necessary?

Now, yes, I know some of you may be thinking, as I reflected in a previous post as well, the SHAME of it all. Girl, you live in Rome, and yet, you sink so low as to patronize the ugly corporate giant, when perfectly good Roman food is all over the place? Well, what can I say? Yes. I am weak. I even read Fast Food Nation (subtitle: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal), people, and that is saying something, because I was pretty much ready to start picketing on Viale Trastevere after I finished it. But, it's that grease that just keeps bringing me back. Only once every few months, if that's any consolation.

So, back to our main topic. Shopping bag? It's on purpose. Expressly to promote that vergogna that I talked about just now. And, it gets even worse. When the guy at the counter yells across the room: "Mascio o femmina?" you know you're in trouble. Me: "Come?" Guy: "Il gioccatolo? Lo vuoi maschio o femmina?" Me:"No, va bene senza. Tanto, non lo uso." Guy: "Devi scegliere, te lo devo dare per forza."

This conversation is the final, calculated blow in the shame game. It translates to:

Guy: Male or female?
Me: What?
Guy: The toy? You want male or female?
Me: No, it's fine without. I don't use it.
Guy: You have to choose, I have to give it to you, whether you like it or not.

See? It's all on purpose to remind us Americans that if we are blessed enough to live in Rome, we should have half the brain to know that Italian food is not to be taken for granted. I surrender!