Café Rio makes me sick. Not in the “I’m so sick of everyone talking about Café Rio because, let’s face it, it’s not that great” sense. More like in the “I’m gonna die” sense.
About an hour after I eat Café Rio food, I wind up curled in a ball on the couch moaning, “Why? Why did I eat that? Someone tell me why! Also, are you going to eat your leftovers?” Every time. And yet, when someone says, “We’re going to Café Rio,” I say, “I’ll get my purse.”
I don’t know why I go there. The food’s not terrific and it makes me (just for you, Beerman) throw-uppy.
And here's something gross: the more I type "Café Rio", the more I crave Café Rio.
I’m such a freakin’ masochist.
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