I’ve always had a strange fascination with the “breakfast” menus at popular fast-food joints, not least in part because my largely nocturnal and significantly apathetic lifestyle could never normally justify rousing from sleep at such an abhorrent hour. I suppose in part it was simply a case that we all feel at some point in our lives, wishing to attain the seemingly unattainable. Another part, perhaps, is that I have a great deal of love for many so-called “breakfast” foods: sausages, eggs, bacon, and their assorted kin. This combination, along with my apparent inability to reach such houses of cuisine at the necessary hours — a fact I’d frequently find vexing — elevated such things to an almost supernatural status.

Today, however, thanks to a severely defective sleep pattern and an ever-growing, ravenous hunger caused by sheer apathy towards preparing foodstuffs, I stumbled upon a solution of sorts: it seemed likely — probable, even — that I’d still be awake at the hallowed hour of “breakfast”, and that perhaps — finally — I could partake in this long-awaited dream which so long had evaded me. Being an occasional purveyor of and living close to a McDonalds (now, now, don’t look at me like that — their Chicken Selects are actually fantastic), I hurriedly opened their website and browsed through the selection of offerings, enthusiasm growing with each passing moment.

Finally, my will — or, perhaps more accurately, my stomach — had settled on the fabled Double Sausage & Egg McMuffin, which seemed to not only satisfy the urge to sample the unattained, but also combined two food products which rate high on my list, that being eggs and sausages. Truly, this was the Holy Grail and nothing could stand in the way of my hunger crusade. The hours ticked by until reaching a time when I was fairly certain the blessed establishment would open, and burrito’d up in layers of clothing and a scarf to ward off the icy weather, I embarked upon my journey with high spirits, soon arriving at my destination. Victory was in sight!

The first pang of disappointment was in the size of the package. Yes, yes, I’m sure we’ve all been there before, but in all seriousness it was only when I unwrapped the shapeless lump that I began to experience regret for the first time in days, the rather sorry-looking miscreant dripping swiftly-congealing grease onto the table, a shrivelled and pale shadow of the sacred manna my mind had envisaged. They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but this adage was also proven wrong as I took that first, regretful bite, a flavour which scarce needs describing for I’m sure your imagination can fill in the blanks. This was the light at the end of the tunnel, the goal I had so long sought? This pathetic excuse for food, which I could finish only through sheer force of will?

The moral lesson of the day, then, is that the more unattainable something seems, the more our minds are wont to build grand visages of unreachable wonders. It’s easy to wish for that which we do not have, especially that which seems difficult or impossible to ever reach, while losing sight of the things we already have — and, often, turn out to be preferable. The same could be said for all things in life, both material possessions and even people (this moral tale could easily apply to one or two of my exes, though I shall speak no more on the matter). In a nutshell, don’t wish too hard for what you don’t have, because it’s probably terrible anyway. If you reach for the stars, you’ll only end up discovering them to be little more than burning balls of gas.

And then you’ll be burned to a cinder in the million-degree-hot inferno, you short-sighted dumbass.