all in the family

for those of us that wonder what happened to sally struthers, author augusten burroughs has an idea:

"well, somehow i felt that if i sent sally a donation, she would open the envelope herself and squeeze the cash into the hip pocket of her elastic-waist jeans. she would then treat herself at pizza hut, using my envelope to dab pepperoni grease from her chin. i imagined her maybe having garlic cheese bread on the side and a salad of iceberg lettuce topped with blue cheese dressing, bacos, and croutons. she would do her eating alone, eyes never leaving the table. her chin would tremble as she chewed and chewed and swallowed hard, against the threat of tears. after leaving her tray on the table for someone else to clean up, she would moan as she climbed into her 1981 cadillac fleetwood. it would be an effort to close the door. she would then place both hands at the top of the wheel, and pressing her forehead against the backs of her hands, begin sobbing right there in the parking lot. then, blinking back the tears, i see her starting the car, swiping her plump little pinkie beneath both eyes and driving away. maybe she drives down la cienega or pico, hunting for a taco bell drive-through window. paper sack in hand, she enters her apartment, which i picture to be on the second floor of an anonymous motel-style apartment building in west hollywood. here, she plays videotapes of all in the family. the ratty curtains are drawn and she's eating a burrito supreme while her lips move along with the dialogue on the show. shredded cheese falls out of the bottom of the burrito onto her bosom.
then i imagine her padding barefoot into the kitchen, leaving the taco bell wrappings on the sofa, and opening the fridge just to look. i imagine her grunting as she squats down in front of it. she opens the salad crisper drawer and finds two slices of oscar meyer olive loaf, drying out and curling at the edges, in the yellow, plastic package. i see her rolling them up together into a tube and placing them between her lips like a cigar, nibbling her way to the end while her eyes scan for more, more, more of something."

i can't relate to the food obsession; but if you replace food with marlboro ultra lights, that's me, right down to the head on the steering wheel.