Hunger pangs

I hated mealtimes when I was a kid. You could make the case that I was picky; I won’t argue. You could even say that I was a worthless child who was a terrible burden to his parents; I would heartily agree with you. But the misery, justified or not, was real.

Eventually I got old enough to have a job and buy my own food. Mealtime was suddenly a source of joy. Work sucked, school sucked, but twice a day I could distract myself from all that by putting something delicious in my mouth. So, that went on for about 20 years. It’s a pretty good run, all told.

But now I’m old and my body is fucking wrecked. I mean, I’ve always been fat and ugly, but now my insides are all messed up, too. So it’s come down to “eat right or die.” And while I am perfectly content to choose the latter, I have been advised by my financial dependents that it’s… not really an option, so I have had to change my diet.

I hate mealtimes now.

I have been scrutinizing the food they sell at the store, and I have come to a simple conclusion: everything that tastes good is bad for me, regardless of what the package  (or your mom) claims. They told me to eat fruit as a kid; well, an apple is better for you than a Snickers bar, but it’s still not great. Hell, even carrots are packed with carbs. Actually, it turns out that all food is basically poison, it’s just a question of how fast or slowly it operates. In any case, practically all I’m left with are leafy greens and, lemme tell you, unless there’s a ham hock involved, leafy greens taste like shit.

But that’s my life now (at least until such time as I am allowed to have my well-earned and much-deserved heart attack). Mmm, I can’t wait!

 

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