Today, I have beef.
I’m not saying, “I’ve got a baggie full of ground beef in my purse right now, guys”, I’m saying “I’ve got a bone to pick, and I’m going to yell it from a motherfucking rooftop.”
Let’s pretend this blog is a rooftop, shall we?
An Open Letter to Lettuce (and Other Leafy Greens.)
You make your way into my fridge, and before I can remember that I purchased you, you sit in my vegetable ‘crisper’, wilting away, generating a mysterious liquid, and plotting your absolute domination over the other, less douchey produce items in your general vicinity. Leave the apples alone, arugula, they did nothing except be delicious.
I understand that you’re likely envious of their crunchy, juicy, delightful ability to satisfy one’s piehole, but back the fuck off. If I do pick you up, consider not leaking all over me. I know it’s a crazy idea, but maybe if you were more likeable and less like an unpotty-trained chihuahua, I’d consider picking you up and ingesting you more often.
Why did I buy you and not let a more avid leaf-eater purchase and consume you in my place?
The answer is simple: your enchanting green hue tricked me. It always tricks me.
I see you sitting in your mountain of well-misted glory, and think “Maybe this week, I’ll make a salad every day and bring it to work. I could totally do that. I’m going to kick ass at being healthy. I’m a health MACHINE!” So, I pick you up, place you in a bag that will inevitably become your eternal resting place, and mosey along- purchasing other healthy, boring items on my quest for the healthy lifestyle I have been hearing so much about lately.
Chances are, in the throes of post-grocery shopping bliss, I will make that salad. I will throw your luxuriant, green leaves into a bowl with your vegetable crisper nemeses, and ingest it like a champ. I will pat myself on the back and think “Damn, I ate the fuck out of that healthy meal. I’m the healthiest bitch in the room.” And then I’ll do a little dance, because I’m the only bitch in the room, while I fantasize about the chocolate I’ll eat later to reward myself for eating so well.
The thing is, lettuce, you just aren’t satisfying at all. While I may momentarily bathe in your healthy, leafy glow, you never truly eliminate my hunger, you never kill a craving, and you, more often than not, get stuck in my teeth, making me look like a doofus all after-fucking-noon. Your seasonal ‘mixed greens’ resemble something I’d find in my mom’s bag’o’weeds after she’s done with her afternoon gardening, and I’ve had enough of your pretention.
So, leafy greens, for the love of god, next time we meet in the produce aisle, why don’t you just act like your weepy, droopy, poopy self, so we can avoid the awkward “Oh right…you’re in my fridge, aren’t you… I guess I should probably throw you out… WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LEAKING ON ME” moment.
P.S. Why can’t you be more like cheese. Cheese is awesome.
P.P.S. I hope you caught the brilliant 'play on words' in the title. I'm here all week, folks.