I’m a grown ass man.
I know what I like.
I know what I don’t like.
The research phase portion of my life is over.
And as a grown-ass man,
I don’t have to eat anything I don’t want.
Isn’t that the whole point of surviving childhood.
Now apparently…
As a grown-ass man,
I’m also supposed to “watch what I eat.”
Bad choices pile up and cholesterol is patient.
Sure.
Eat healthier.
Read ingredients.
Knowledge might not save you,
but at least you’ll see it coming.
I like to read.
Books.
Instructions.
Warning labels.
Road signs.
Reading isn’t the problem.
The problem is that ingredients are written by liars.
I like fish.
I like seafood.
I do NOT like tartar sauce.
I don’t know what tartar is, so I looked it up
I don’t want it’s essence, just a list of ingredients.
I NEED THE TRUTH.
I like to cook.
I like the crockpot.
Because Jim says if something cooks for eight hours,
it should not raise questions.
Cream of chicken tastes like chicken.
Cream of mushroom tastes like mushroom.
Reality isn’t just some alternative universe.
It’s a real thing.
Then there’s cream of tartar.
Not cream.
Not a liquid.
Not a sauce.
Just a powder with confidence.
But to me – that’s suspicious.
So I read the label
Ingredients: cream of tartar.
So now we’ve abandoned accountability.
I very clearly remember the dentist talking about tartar buildup.
With charts.
And shame.
So I will NOT be adding it to food
voluntarily.
I’m not seasoning with dental problems.
Out of pure spite,
I read the ingredients on Girl Scout cookies.
It did NOT say “Ingredients: Girl Scout Cookies.”
It listed actual ingredients.
Like adults were involved.
Don’t care.
Still eating them.
Because Jim says if society collapses, I’m going down with margaritas and cookies.
My Take on Life and Events 