Jeanne is forced to go “cold turkey”

She satisfies her addiction once more before leaving Canada.

Jeanne gets her last hit

As we drew nearer to the Canadian border I could tell that Jeanne’s clenched fists were growing tighter and whiter. There were beads of sweat breaking out onto her forehead. It became almost a mantra as I heard her ask over and over again, “Do you think chip wagons will be open before eleven o’clock in the morning?” The answer, of course, was “likely not” but she was not going to let this go and I knew it so on the outskirts of Brockville we spotted one. There was a little chip truck and it looked like, yes, it looked like there was someone in it. At the very last minute I swerved off of Highway 29 and into the parking lot. There they were just getting the oil changed. I explained my panick –  I was leaving the country and might not be back for a year. I pointed to Jeanne in the front seat of the car, bent over now and shivering. “How soon will you be able to make a batch of fries?” I asked. ‘Well, if you can wait about ten minutes the oil should be ready,” he replied. His hopeful words seemed to satisfy her and fifteen minutes later and wiping back the tears, she had a large bag of the golden brown fries in her hand.

As we rolled back onto the road, she rolled down her window and loudly cried out…

Goodbye for this year, Canada!

Goodbye, happy colored trucks! 

Good bye golden, delicious, fattening chips!

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