I can't tell you how little cooking interests me. Do you know what I had for lunch today? Cheetos I found in the cupboard. Why? Because I had a lot of work to do, and I didn't feel like going to the store, and when I went to pick up a pita some guy in a backpack walked in ahead of me, so I went to Shoppers and looked at perfume real quick instead. (You know when you just see somebody and KNOW their order is complicated? It was that moment exactly — EXACTLY.)
So I went home, and I ate Cheetos, and I did some work, and then I went back and got a pita like a normal, well-adjusted adult human being. I HAVE EARNED THIS.
So yes, I am lazy. I promise this isn't me being "glamorous" (LOLOL) or "interesting" (although if you want interesting, I'll be happy to tell you all about my grade four POG collection!) — I am just very lazy. And laziness prevents the willingness to cook. Which is fine! I've made peace with this. So please YOU make peace with this: please don't tell me about how you made Thanksgiving dinner.
Like, tell me about it in the way I'll tell you about making tea (as in, I don't tell anyone about it unless something horrible and/or hilarious happened). Tell me if you dropped the turkey (I'll still eat it!) or you did what my Dad did once at a buffet and put maple syrup on your potatoes thinking it was gravy. That shit was hilarious. Less hilarious? What's in the gravy. I mean, it's gravy. It is liquid fat. Is there fat in the gravy? Excellent — stop right there, I don't care about anything else. Is there no fat in the gravy? Why would you tell me that. Now I don't want it at all.
And look, you KNOW what I'm talking about here. You know how it feels to scroll through Facebook (and cry, because you're scrolling through Facebook when you could be doing any other thing on this planet than scrolling through Facebook) and you see it: the status. With the recipe. Like a rant, but worse, because what you're about to get mad about isn't 100% justified. (BUT YET IT IS.) It's too much information, and you weren't meant to see it. Or if you were, somebody should've asked: "Is it okay if I post food stuff here? Or will this be like the time one of you live-Facebook'd Titanic despite no one asking you to, effectively ruining it for us?" Even if you LIVE for that shit, you secretly think, "Ah man, I was just looking for a few cat gifs."
There is nothing wrong with cooking or posting food status or taking food pictures. (sometimes — sometimes), but please, PLEASE dial down the Thanksgiving recipes. At least on the Internet. At your home, I understand that I am a willing participant of a certain arrangement: you are cooking food, and I will eat it, and in exchange for that, you will tell me how it all came to be. That is fine. Just not in my home, the Internet. Just warn me. Maybe make food your Facebook cover or something so I'll know the shit you're into. Because hey, I've got a scene from Friends as mine, and that is FAIR warning that sometimes I will want to talk about Rachel's hair to excess. I have warned you. So just warn me. Start with one or two photos of Thanksgiving turkeys, then move onto poems about mashed potatoes. After that, map the layout of a gravy fondu fountain-thing, and then move onto pie.
Then that will be my cue: "I have been warned sufficiently. Now I will go."
And it doesn't matter where. Away. To a pita place, probably, or to wherever chips and Cheetos are on sale. And happily I will consume them, caring not about how you're going to prepare a turkey I am probably not going to eat. Caring more about if I've written enough about whether Rachel and Ross were on a break, instead.
I'm sorry. I love you all. (And for the record, yes. They were.)
