~ I Hate You ~

I was alone for far too long tonight.  My kids were at their father’s house.  My Captain was out saving the world.  My cats were napping, and my fish isn’t speaking to me.

I had plenty to keep me busy.  Tremendously fun stuff like dishes, laundry, paperwork, cleaning, scooping the cat box, things like that.

Oddly enough, none of it intrigued me.

And when I get bored like that, my thoughts turn to food.  But no one was here to tell me I wasn’t hungry, merely apathetic….unmoved by the prospect of an evening filled with mundanity.

I wandered around my little cottage a few times, and finally found myself in front of my lover, the cookie jar.

I treasure that thing.

I didn’t hesitate, but with growing excitement lifted the lid….

and was immediately deflated.  My hopes were dashed with one swift glance at the bottom of my love. He echoed apologetically with his emptiness.

I whimpered, and drifted dejectedly to the fridge.

Opened the door.  Saw nothing I wanted.  Closed the door.

Opened the door again.  Tried to lower my standards.  Saw nothing I wanted again, and closed the door.

Opened the door again.  Lowered my standards to that of a college student after a night of binge-drinking, and finally settled on the vegetable drawer.

I hate you, you tasteless bit of barely edible disappointment.  You are nothing but a vehicle to get some kind of fatty dressing into my mouth.  Like cardboard with crunch.  Don’t ever forget it.

And you, don’t just sit there laughing at the Romaine.  You’re actually worse…you have to be peeled and seeded and even still you can be unpleasantly bitter.  At your best, without something salty or sweet on you, you taste like nothing, and you know it.

And YOU. Don’t let your wonderful color fool you into thinking that you are actually a pleasure to eat.  If it weren’t for Ranch Dressing, you wouldn’t even be considered good enough for a Crudite.

You. You make all the stuff above palatable.

But don’t get cocky.  You’re no chocolate chip cookie, that’s for damn sure.

I hate being left alone for too long.  I end up berating produce.

Take that look of concern off your face.  You know you have insulted food out of boredom too.  Don’t act like you haven’t.