I Am Coleslaw
So I really don't mean for this to sound like a pity party for myself. More like just a simple statement of certain facts. I like to pretend like that makes my situation seem less pathetic. No? Not really fooling you either? Oh fine then. Have it your way. I am pathetic. But first and foremost, I am coleslaw. I'm sure you're wondering how I've arrived to this seemingly absurd conclusion, but allow my to explain my complex method of reasoning. For those of you who grew up in circumstances so pitiable as to be the victims of 'hot lunch' at school, you will most likely understand this analogy best. I know...the horror, to imagine that a mother couldn't find the time to make a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich to brown bag with one of those snazzy little chip bags and a fruit roll-up. It's tragic really, but such is childhood. Anyways, at hot lunch, there was always an annoying line to wait in, and once you got to the food, it wasn't really one of those pick and choose kind of things. Rather, it was more of the scary lunch ladies just slopping whatever nutritionally deprived thing the school district could afford at the time. But if you acted fast, you could usually just tell them you didn't want certain side dishes, even if there wasn't an alternative. Sometimes if you were lucky you could even make some great and elaborate excuse for not being able to eat it by claiming an allergy to lettuce or gluten or preservatives. And of all side dishes, we all know coleslaw is probably the most vile and disgusting. Well that my friends, is why I am coleslaw. Everybody passes me in line, makes a face or an excuse, and says no thanks. And when I'm slopped onto a tray because you weren't fast enough to say no thanks, you just poke me with your spoon and push me to the farthest corner of your lunch plate.