I don’t like to label myself, but did you know I’m “the weird girl”?
Did you know that when I take naps, I sleep with my head at the foot of the bed and my feet on my pillows?
Or that I get really grossed out when I find coffee grinds in the sink?
Or that I actually like doing the dishes? (But only when there are no coffee grinds involved. None. At all.)
So. Hmm. Are you confused?
Because I’m confused. Are you sure we’re in the right place?
Am I feverish? Can you feel my forehead?
Cold? Really? (Well, understandable given the fact that I’m pretty sure my fingers turn blue whenever I get into my now-not-scalding shower. I need to be burnt, people. BURNT. Sigh. A girl can dream.)
But, really. Not feverish? You’re sure?
Maybe my blood has frozen from that damn shower (no, I can’t get over it. It haunts me.) and no oxygen is getting to my head. That seems realistic and plausible.
Whenever I go home to visit my parents, I become a version of my future self.
I lecture about the virtues of eating the rainbow. Scream when I see their counters littered with Entenmann’s cakes, Oreos, and loaf upon loaf of white bread. Go balls-to-the-wall crazy when I open their fridge and find not a single vegetable other than Iceberg lettuce.
Then comes dinner time. At which point, I refuse to let anyone leave the table until they have eaten all of their veggies. And then feel perfectly entitled to send people to stand in a corner and think about what they’ve done when they fail to comply.
Tough love, people. I only do it because I love them and want them all to be at healthy BMIs and live to be 150, type II diabetes free. Plus, I’ve usually arrived with a lovely decadent dessert in tow. And they need to earn their keep somehow. (I should note that I do not include my mother in this “they” of which I speak. I’m pretty sure she would happily be a vegetarian if not for everyone else’s meat-eating ways and is always willing to eat her fair share of whatever veggie-rich meal that I have prepared.)
I think I’ve spent the last five nights dreaming about Grey’s Anatomy.
Instead, I wish that I had dreamt that I was studying for the Boards. Flipping through flashcards with various pharmaceuticals on them. Reciting things like mechanism of action, contraindications, and adverse drug reactions. This way I could learn while I sleep. Doesn’t that seem ridiculously efficient to you?
However, I have a feeling that in order to be capable of doing this, I have to actually know these things to begin with. They have to be trapped somewhere in the depths of my subconscious.
They are not.
I’ve looked.
All that’s there is a deep and unruly love of Patrick Dempsey and a large tray of red velvet cupcakes topped with a vat of really good cream cheese frosting. All the things I want, but in real life can’t have. Sigh. I have a sad subconscious.
How did this happen?
That’s what my roommate, Anu, kept asking me as she paced around our apartment, fervently licking creme brulee out of the little crimped edges of the ramekin that were all too tragically spoon-inaccessible.
You see, just a mere half hour before, she had walked into the kitchen to find me swearing off all things green, with avocado traces conspicuously strewn all over the kitchen counters and in my hair. Trying to whip vegan milk.
Have you ever tried to whip vegan milk before?
Don’t. It’s an exercise in futility.
Everyone always says that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.
Not to go against six thousand years of research. But I’m a rabble-rouser. This is what I do.
And so I maintain that, yeah, breakfast is important. But lunch? Lunch is totally the new breakfast.
You see, for me at least, breakfast is easy. I eat the same thing every day. There’s no temptation or choice involved. It is what it is. Breakfast. Just eat it and eat it well, and you’ll be good to go.
Welcome to Eats Well With Others, where we take a vegetable-and-cupcake laden approach to life (always with a bit of laughter on the side)!
