America begs you, keep the change

First, let me say, I take my fair share of the blame.

As a segment, however fringe, of the media (motto: “we are to blame for absolutely EVERYTHING”), I am a member in good standing of the heckling hordes that salivated with delight when the news broke that a 270 pound man is suing McDonald’s and similar purveyors of fat, er, fast food.

Holding an assortment of fast food establishments liable for his girth, rather than his assortment of daily visits to same. Sometimes this job is too easy.

Fried. Then came the backlash.

We had to know, in our heart of hearts (as clogged as they might be with saturated fats) that there would be a price to pay for our ridicule. We simply did not expect it to be so fast and furious.

So devoid of even the milk (skim, of course) of human kindness.

Yet, as sudden and utterly unexpected as a natural disaster, McDonald’s is countering the suit by lowering the fat in their french fries.

Key McDonald spokespersons speaking on behalf of Ronald McDonald, who has gone into seclusion at the news, have admitted that this fat alteration will likely change the taste of the fries.

Talk about hitting below the belt! Presuming, of course, that the average American could still wear a belt.

Repeat the past. Alas, those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.

I have two words for McDonalds: New Coke. For a diabolic period in the mid-1980s, Coca-Cola changed the taste of America’s oldest soft drink.

What changed, and swiftly, were the minds of Coke executives when they were stormed by angry cola swilling masses demanding a return to the flavor they knew and loved.

To this day most Americans can recall the “New Coke scare” more readily than they can the Cuban Missile Crisis.

After all, what’s near mass nuclear immolation compared to a threat to our nation’s soda? It goes without saying that we do not adapt readily to change.

Groans. As such, you can imagine the collective groan that swept America’s couches (and not just the springs from the weight of our duffs, mind you) when the Institute of Medicine unleashed a 1,000-page report recommending 60 minutes of vigorous physical activity a day – every single day – to maintain cardiovascular health.

And no, struggling to open your bag of Doritos does not count.

What is adorable about the recommendation is their naivet

About the Author

Warm, witty and just a wee bit warped, Kymberly Foster Seabolt is a native of Kent, Ohio, who survived childhood exposure to disco and grew up to marry and move to the country. Her column weaves her special brand of humor with poignant, entertaining, and honest portrayals of parenting, marriage, and real life. She currently lives in northeastern Ohio with her husband, two children, two dogs, two cats, and numerous dust bunnies who wish to remain nameless. More Stories by Kymberly Foster Seabolt

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