So I was at the grocery store the other day, fondling, I mean examining, I mean buying some chicken. The roasters were on sale – woohoo – so I proceeded to grab two of the little buggers. With a voice so shrill I about jumped out of my Asics, a women behind me screeched, “I can’t believe you’re going to eat THAT! Do you know the poison they shoot into those things? And how they TREAT them? SHAME!” She was giving me and my chickens the hairy eyeball and shaking her finger. “ I only eat grass-fed free range chicken. Think about it,” she said, tapping the space where her brain (and good manners) should be.
So I AM thinking. And what I’m thinking is this: “If you’re such a runny ass health nut, what in the hell are you doing at the Food Is Us rather than the WholeEarthOrganicMortgageMyHouseForKale down the street? And I’m also thinking, (because my Southern manners prevent me from saying it out loud) “You could also stand to lose 40 pounds, so why don’t you go eat a piece of organic celery, you fat bitch, I mean, bless your heart.”
So here’s a big shout out to you food Nazis – Ya’ll need to lighten up. Yep. We say ya’ll alot around these here parts. We’ve been known to do some Hillbilly Handfishin’ and grill up a possum or 2 as well. (Skunks are prolific, but a girl’s gotta draw the line somewhere).
Look, I’m into eating right as much as the next neurotic 21st century female, but since when is what I eat anyone else’s business but my own? The food fanatics seem to be everywhere these days, preaching the gospel of hydroponic tomato. Convinced that their religion is superior, they’re determined to convert all the unwashed masses. It’s gotten to the point where I just want to say screw it and order me up some Dominos.
Better yet, gimme a mess o’ meat, baked tater and some pole beans and leave me the hell alone. And I’ll still kick your ass in a 5k.