Tuesday, 8 November 2011

My celery epiphany

Even though I like to think of my refrigerator as that thing that magically keeps my wine nice and chilly and just the way I like it, I occasionally feel that while eating out every single day might be great for my inner happiness and Yelp credibility, it is not the healthiest (nor the most cost-effective) way to live my life. However, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: nothing feels as good as mozzarella sticks taste. Nothing! Not a thing. I think that by now, we’ve all realized that true happiness comes from within an appetizer sampler platter.

Regardless, sometimes I decide to go food shopping. I don’t really know much about healthy meals but I do know that I’m always so tempted to pick up a pack of celery.

It just seems like the right thing to do, and more importantly it seems like the thing that Martha Stewart or Anna Wintour’s assistants would do, so I do it too. I always buy celery because for a moment, as I wheel my cart o’ celery around, I feel like I know that everything is going to be okay because people with no sense of purpose just don’t have the insight that I have, as a purpose-laden shopper, to buy celery. Whenever I’m in the store, I always envision myself snacking on celery while I watch reality television, feeling completely Posh (the Spice Girl, not the adjective) and satiated.

I have a vivid imagination.

Some might say that celery is delicious with peanut butter or “ranch” dressing, and this is utter bullshit. Peanut butter is what’s good. “Ranch” is what’s great. But celery? Do you know what celery tastes like in actuality? Crunchy face wash.

I hate celery. Never again.

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