A buffet.

If you really are what you eat, then I would be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

For some reason, these are always the ingredients I have on hand. 

My grandma would be a mysterious, pungent something that comes out of a wok or cheese with crackers. My best friends from high school would be cheap Mexican food at two o’clock in the morning or pumpkin anything. My best friend from college would be anything deep fried from the south and homemade bread. My brother would be Root beer and angel hair pasta and Otter Pops in the shower, my sisters would be tacos with green peppers. My mom would be a gallon of diet coke, and my dog would be a piece of toast because he’s too snooty for Alpo now.

I picture all of these different foods on a table with my peanut butter and jelly. The people in my life would undoubtedly make one of the most disgusting meals in history; the kind of stuff that, when combined, teenage boys wouldn’t even eat. I wonder if I should replace my complementary foods with caviar and escargot, or perhaps some glazed duck and an arugula salad. But escargot won’t go tping with you the way Mexican food does and glazed duck would feel completely out of place driving down the back country toads with the windows down and music way up. Sushi won’t hike mountains and climb fences the way deep fried chicken will. And wine won’t laugh with you the way that diet coke does.

I like my misfit side dishes. If I were surrounded by any other foods, I would feel self-conscious, wondering if my skin was the wrong color and if the peanut butter makes me look fat. With all the people in my life, I’m free to be a simple PB&J.






xo.pa