Why is it that everytime I prepare food for a party the first thought that goes through my mind is the joy I will feel the next morning when I sleepily walk over to the kitchen and open my fridge to eat a bowl of cold whatever-was-left-over the night before? Who bothers to heat leftovers? Responsible adults maybe, but not me.
Where do we go from this thought? Must I attempt to make a metaphor out of this unusual but surprisingly common eating habit? Some pretentious John Green-esque bullsh*t that associates the cold, chewy strands of spaghetti to the challenges of life?
Idon’tfuqin’know. Welcome to my world. Take a serving of my verbal diarrhea.