White Food Problems
“I need to find the yogurt that works for me,” I said over vodka and sandwiches, feeling incredibly earnest.
A year ago? I went to QED’s place with a bag full of Chobani, since the yogurt that worked for her was sold out of her local supermarket, but I’d picked out the wrong flavor. She graciously accepted anyway, saying it was okay, that it was second best and still delicious. I wouldn’t know.
Once I was feeling very fragile and it was late and I hadn’t eaten anything all day and it was 10 PM and we went through a drive through where I ordered a jr. bacon cheeseburger, NO MAYO, and when we got back to the house and I unwrapped it there was mayonnaise all over it. I confess I actually cried, I actually went to bed hungry. This happened when I was a legal adult.
Another time I cried because of mayonnaise is detailed here, but I’m not allowed to recycle, apparently.
Related: other people may feel differently but I believe Jonah Lehrer jokes are still funny.
I didn’t start drinking white wine until I moved out of my parents’ place for good, and then only because I miss my mother. She drinks Chateau St. Jean chardonnay and now so do I. I feel bad associating my mother with her favorite drink—she really doesn’t drink all that much—but she likes ranch dressing and doesn’t much care for dessert, so this is the thing I choose to latch on to for reasons I think are probably obvious.