Eating Holiday

I need a holiday. To go away some place where I’ll wake up with only a single concern every morning: to feed this body of mine. To eat some good and some not-considered-so-good food. To spoil myself with fries and burgers, coffee and loads of chocolate, ice cream and cake. To be bad (or good, depending on how you see it) to myself for while, to over indulge. To feel no guilt at a late morning or an inactive day.

My sole purpose will be to walk about, not aimlessly, but seeing sights; stopping only to drink in the pleasure. I’ll eat some strange foods and talk to some strangers. They’ll talk back in accents I don’t understand and I’ll giggle like a school girl.

I’ll see new places, learn new things and meet new people. There will be new music, new stories, new folklore, new jokes, new festivals. Even new dreams, I imagine. I’ll relax, forget a little and live a whole lot. I’ll take long walks, and learn to appreciate art and wine. I’ll take boat rides, go treausure hunting and wish upon stars.

And when my holiday ends, I’ll be a new creature. With bigger cheeks, of course.

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