My love affair with the burrito

I'm in love.

With no man or beast (minds out of the gutter please...) but with an inanimate object. An edible object of maximum and overwhelming deliciousity. I am, of course, speaking of Chipotle.

I want to be clear: this is not an advertisement. Not that I would turn down any money Chipotle wanted to give me being that I'm homeless now... I don't wear logo shirts or carry Louis Vuitton bags for the same reason. If I'm not being paid, why would I advertise for you? But for this, I gladly debase myself for the pure pleasure that is The Burrito.

My order is a chicken burrito with mild and hot tomato salsa, pinto beans, lettuce, cheese, guacamole and a side of chips to which I then eat like taco salad. It's love wrapped in a warm, soft tortilla. It's total perfection. It's lunch and dinner because I'm so damn full I couldn't eat anything else.

Sure, it's about a 1000 calories of tasty variety of joyous flavors but you gotta take a hit to get that glorious yumminess in you tummy. I skip breakfast, no snacks, go for a run or all of the above just to get my hands on my one true love. (That's burrito love... I still love you most, TMS! Don't be so jealous.)

For the longest time, our love was secret. I didn't tell any of my friends about our afternoon rendezvous. They would ask, "Why aren't you hungry? Have some of my goulash..." or "You're never hungry; do you hate my goulash?" I couldn't tell them that I wolfed down any entire burrito by myself just moments before. (Or that their goulash sucks.) This dainty chick who scoffs at fast food was in love with a food that was delivered quite fast. I would sneak the brown bag with my stash into my room, bolt the door and just bask in the glow of my perfectly made burrito. But now, everything is different. I'm coming out.

I'm here to say, no, shout it to the heavens!

I love Chipotle and I don't care who knows!