Right now, mostly I’m just waiting for my avocados to ripen.
At the grocery store Sunday, where I went to buy all the stuff for my food prep, there were two choices: the black avocados that were mushy–not at all unlike the current state of my hips–or the green ones, that were hardened like my attitude toward any of those Teen Moms.
I elected to get the green hard unrelenting ones with pursed lips (avocados, not Teen Moms), and put them in a paper bag, as I heard that’s how you ripen things. I have no idea if that’s true or not, but I’ve done it since I started living on my own.
The first few years I lived on my own, I feel like all I ever bought at the store was fish sticks, red fruit punch and salted peanuts in the shell. But whenever it was that I got a modicum of maturity and ventured into peaches.
I decided to food prep Sunday, because part of the reason I’m Why So Chubby Gardens, Moon Pie Gardens, is that I get home from work ravenous, and I could go to the grocery store, buy a chicken breast and whip that up after I’ve also headed to the farmers market and gotten some fresh produce. Or, I could drive though Freddy’s and eat a turtle sundae.
So. I got inspired to food prep.
There’s a young woman at work–a young lady, because I’m 417. I put $5 in a birthday card for you, honey–who is forever getting on social media to show you the quinoa she bought, and then she goes on to tell you what she’s food prepping that week, and it always involves chopping sweet potatoes and the like.
She has glowing skin. She’s also, like, somewhere between 18 and 28, and when I was between those ages, Sundays were for figuring out where the hell you were and getting home to sleep it off.
Once, when Ned was in his 20s, he woke up …not at home, after some party, and was incredibly hung over. He was walking back to his place not feeling so fresh, when a quite-clearly-gay man pulled over in some sort of fancy car and said seductively, “Want a ride?”
Ned felt so dreadful, and did not want to appear homophobic and also did not want to walk in the heat any more so very much, that he looked at the guy, figured he could beat him up should he make forceful advances, and took the ride. It was maybe a block in that the guy said, “I have a hot tub at home.”
“If you tell this story, you need to make it clear that all he did was drop me off. A block from my house,” said Ned, when I called to ask if I could tell this story.
So after Ned made sweet experimental love to the gay guy, he went home and food prepped.
My theory is if my Young-miss, here’s-a-quarter-for-mowing-my-lawn coworker can shake off the hangover to food prep (she probably gets hung over on quinoa benders. “Oh, I had way too much kale last night! I’ll get right on over to my bikram class to detoxify.”) (What the fuck is wrong with this next generation? Okay, I realize she’s technically two generations from me. Isn’t she? Aw, hell, I have no idea.) (Gen X is the best! And clearest-thinking!) that I could too.
So I looked up (brace yourself) recipes, got all excited about food, stopped at Freddy’s for a restorative sundae, and went to the store. Where, hey, Three Bears Beds avocados.
But I did make a lot of stuff. For instance, I made this chicken salad? Where I actually cooked chicken breasts and shredded them? That has almond butter in it. And grapes. And you serve it in a lettuce wrap.
I know, right? Look at June. By the way, when you click on that link, you’re going to want to get drunk on kale. She’s all “Here’s my recipe!” and then shows you 40 million other people’s recipes first, which was super helpful when I was at the store trying to buy ingredients. “Oh, HELL, this is that other recipe [scroll scroll scroll].”
Anyway, I made all the stuff, and put it away, and was so thrilled with own self and was waiting for skin to glow Sunday night, when somewhere in the night
Somewhere in the night we will know
Everything lovers can know
You’re my song, music too magic to end
I’ll play you over and over again
Sorry. I was back to Ned’s Big Gay Sunday of 1986.
Somewhere in the night, it dawned on me that I had vegetables all chopped up, and hummus, and chicken salad, and holy shit I could really go for something to eat right about now.
And that is how I spent my Sunday eating all my food prepped food.
You should never trust this latest generation.