shit my blog says

Dear food

Dear Food,

I’m writing this letter to let you know that I’m breaking up with you.

I know, I know, breaking up by letter is weak and I wish I had the courage to tell you this stuff in person. But there’s so much I have to say, and my thoughts are better organized when I write them down. Plus, I’m afraid how you’ll react, or how you’ll make me react.

I want to just be friends. Cliche, certainly, but I think we can treat each other with friendly respect now that our relationship is over. We owe it to ourselves to be civil, because we have so many mutual friends and share so many activities, like second lunch, late-night snack, and the munchies, not to mention when we’ll be at the same holiday gatherings.

So why am I breaking up with you? There are many reasons, and the blame lies with me – it’s not you, it’s me.

Any healthy relationship should be good for both people, right? Well, you’re not making me a better person, just a bigger one. I know I once said you complete me, but you’ve done more than that. I’m overbuilt like a Detroit suburb, thanks to your surplus. When I walk into a Chinese buffet, the hostess shouts something sharp back to the kitchen in Angry Chinese and then turns back to me with a “Hello, mister-you’re-killing-my-profit-margins” sideways smile.

There’s a saying that a man should build a shed to protect his tools, but I’ve got the Sydney Opera House protecting my equipment these days. Sure, that’s a bit of an overshare, but there’s no use denying reality at this point.

I have an Evernote list of places that people say are good to eat and I want to try. I look at threads of food porn when planning a vacation around where I want to eat. The special occasions are okay (you had me at bacon), but the special occasion has become the everyday.

We had some great times together to be sure – remember Lou Malnati’s? Papa Romano’s? Grand Luxe Cafe? Every restaurant at DisneyWorld? Beau Jo’s? And who can forget Chi Chi’s? Nay’s Bamboo Kitchen and Tuma’s?

There were also times that weren’t so good, too. Remember the expired hot dog when we got back from the cruise? That was the first time in my life I needed a bucket and a toilet. How about the two-day allergic stupor in Steamboat Springs after the sneaky shrimp incident?

Moving forward, we’re going to have to be less passionate about each other; a tough task by any measure, but we will find our way. I need to reduce you to acquaintance status, and convert our relationship to maintenance and utility. Sorry, food-as-love, you’re being replaced by food-as-fuel. It will be tough, especially considering where I work. We’ll certainly have to deal with the passion between us, and there may be some one-nighters and quickies where we can release some of that tension.

Since I’m being emo and breaking up in writing, I’ll stick with the meme in closing:

Can we still be friends? Check box:





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