Messy food. I hate it. I could never even fully embrace sloppy joes when I was growing up, and isn’t that like, the dream meal of youth? Any meal that requires a napkin the size of a tarp spells out tedium to me. Maybe if it were cubed into bite-sized morsels and someone wearing a tophat and tails spoonfed it to me, I’d have applauded happily like the children in the Mamwich commercials. Then we could call them lazy joes.
I hate the sensation of cookie dough between my fingers. “Now’s the fun part, kids! Get your hands in there! Make a mess!” No thanks, please pass the latex gloves. I think maybe this is why I never got into pottery.
Tonight at work, we ordered out. I put a lot of thought into it, as I generally do with everything in life, before settling on a half of an eggplant parmesan hoagie. In past experiences, these hoagies have not been kind to me. You have your rebellious slivers of egglant, slipping off the sandwich and landing in your lap with a greasy plop. You have your strings of melted cheese, pliant and elastic, snapping in half and busting you in the cheek like a broken rubber band. You have globs of marinara that wants desperately to be your new lipstick. You have pieces of bread, paste-like once it mingles with the saliva, becoming caps for your front teeth.
This time, I was prepared. My desk was equipped with a stockpile of napkins; I halved the hoagie; I took slow, small, and careful bites. With luck, I can finish my second half without appearing as though I just ate out a streetwalker with a can of tomato paste plugging her vagina.
An eggplant parmesan hoagie sounded excellent,
until I read the last sentence.
That gave me an honest-to-goodness LOL moment.
For fuck’s sake, it’s a freakin Eggplant sandwich. Not deciding to purchase a house. Doesn’t require that much thought or effort.
(Are we really so-called “responsible” adults?..God damn..)
Welcome to my deluded mind!
Wow, you’re just as fucked as I am.
It explains why we’re both friends with Janna.
Yeah, hi Janna.
Erin, have you considered the possibility that we are, in fact that we are normal and Janna is the one who is real fucked up?
What is it with me and all these fucked up minded friends I have? Actually, I think it’s an admirable quality. Or maybe you’re right, Craig and I’m the fucked up one. We might need a third party opinion on this one.
No third party needed. You must be tapped in the skull to be friends with all of us. Even me and Erin. No. ESPECIALLY me and erin.
wow. thanks to this entry, not only am i on a no italian food diet…
i am also no longer lesbian.
thanks!!!! my life should be much easier as a skinny straight girl.
I’m pretty sure this is the best comment ever. I say this a lot, but never have I meant it more than I do now.
don’t ethiopians eat with their hands?
sounds sloppy. have you thoroughly thought this through?
I’m frightened that you were typing this comment from my couch while I was simultaneously posting a new entry about it.
Skinny straight girl? I’m in the market for one of those.
“You have globs of marinara that wants desperately to be your new lipstick. You have pieces of bread, paste-like once it mingles with the saliva, becoming caps for your front teeth.”
ACE. This is why I love reading your posts.