I Don't Usually Hold With Foreign Food


I like simple meals. My dinner tonight consists of a piece of bread, two slices of American cheese, and a glass of milk. Lunch was a helping of tuna spread across some crackers, also served with milk. A bagel hastily shoved down my gullet on the drive to school this morning had to suffice as breakfast.

This unrefined palette lends itself well to one of several careers: professional bachelor, professional college student, or professional five-year-old. I have high hopes for that last one.

Of course, I have really been embracing my destiny as a cat lady as of late, which would seemingly be in direct conflict with a career as a youngster. However, as I was desperately trying to take my mind off of the nearby mosquito whilst showering this morning, I was struck with the odd realization that I have no idea what a cat lady's diet looks like. I would imagine that she would fix dainty foods, the kind usually reserved for a fancy tea or a Thumbelina-themed birthday party. She would eat alone in her formal dining room, ten or so plump kittens snoring at her feet, as she slowly picked the foods from her plate. The dishes would be her finest china, the type that can neither be microwaved nor put in the dishwasher, adding the menial task of hand-washing dishes to the to-do list she would keep pinned to the refrigerator next to the cat-a-day calendar and a Christmas card from 1997.

Then again, this is all just speculation.