Superfreaky Lexicon: KFC syndrome January 1, 2006
Posted by Duncan Brook in : Memories , 1 comment so far
I call it KFC syndrome.
Every night, I’d come home bone-tired from my shift, greasy and aromatic from eight hours of fat-food hard work. I’d get a drink of water and drop into the couch in the den. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there’d be all these cats … sniffing and meowing and licking and purring and rubbing against me. Cats, I discovered, have sandpaper tongues, and (like most things) I must’ve tasted just like chicken.
All I wanted to do was sleep; I was so tired.
But before I could go to bed, I had to take a shower.
Problem was, I was too wiped out to do it.
So I just sat there blankly — sometimes for a very long time — being rubbed upon and sampled. “Reowrl … tastyduncan.” Each night, finally unfolding myself from the couch was really hard. Far too late after coming home, I’d stumble blurrily upstairs into the shower.
Often, after I dried off and crawled into bed, my cat Crispen would jump up and join me. Realizing that now he smelled like chicken, I’d at last conk out completely.
When you’re too tired to do the very things that will get you into bed, that’s KFC syndrome.
