I can go months between beef-eating, although I don’t, I think. But I can. I just tend to prefer other kinds of meat.

I prefer Whataburger meat most of all, though. It’s nostalgia for a time when fast food was a treat, a special occasion, and Whataburger was the best.

I’ve had better burgers; I’ve made better burgers. But they’re good and sort of unique, and they don’t exist west (or north) of Arizona. I try to grab one when I visit family, for sentimental reasons.

So yesterday, hooking up with my old friend Gordon, who lives in San Antonio, we opted for The Big What (my nickname, all mine).

I had a double, which my daughter pointed out was an easy way to add some calories, the goal being to return from the land of scrawny people. Good call.

I got a large Coke Zero, which has no calories but is as sweet as I can stand. Diet cola is my preferred drink, and if it’s a vice (and I don’t think so; you think what you want) it’s a minor one. Let me have some minor ones.

Gordon and I got refills before we left the store, and I brought that home with me to hoard, as I drank the last one in the house the night before.

So, this morning I got up and spent a couple of hours intermittently sucking the cola out of yesterday’s ice cubes, which occurred to me is pretty much the definition of dependency. I don’t care at all. Vice away.

I’m heading home today, suddenly aware that apparently it takes seven days to acclimate myself to air-conditioning. It’s actually been cooler here than in Seattle this past week, but it’s still been warm for me. Inside, though, I’ve had to wear a sweatshirt to fight off the chill. Today, I’m fine.

I’m also completely switched over to Central standard time, which isn’t horribly awkward but still. There will be an adjustment.

All worth it. As if I had to say that.

Chuck Sigars