Cooking is Really Hard

Once people find out that I am a college student living in an apartment, the favorite response is, “Oh, you're going to have to cook for yourself. Think you can do that?” Ooh, I don't know; I'm so scared that I'm not going to have somebody to prepare my meals, tuck me into bed at night, and wipe my butt after taking a dump. I mean, seriously, how hard is cooking? There's a grocery store two minutes from where I live. I could go there and buy all the food I'd ever need to eat, already neatly packaged and ready for me to heat up, add water, and enjoy. Implying that I am not capable of even that simplest level of food preparation is insulting.

Now, if I didn't have a Safeway and a WinCo and a Wal-Mart to provide anything and everything, that would be a different story. If I had to cultivate my own crops and try to grow enough vegetables during the summer to last all year; if I had to head to the wilderness on the weekends to forage for roots and berries; if I had to slither through the grass on my stomach with a knife between my teeth for hours, stalking wild game, then people could tell me that acquiring and preparing food is hard.

But even if I had to go hunting to get meat, it wouldn't be that bad. An urban hunter can load up his one ton pickup truck with four wheelers and coolers of beer and drive to a remote location on Friday night, then spend his weekend getting drunk and ripping up the tundra and end up with a moose out of the deal. It's not like these hunters are out there slogging through swamps, scaling mountains, and packing out the meat 100 pounds at a time all under their own power. If they were I would have to declare hunting the manliest and most hardcore activity possible, but more likely they drive into the wilderness, shoot something, and drive back out.

But what really bugs me is guys who are obsessed with their lawns. Look pal, you've got a 20x20 foot postage stamp of grass in front of your house. Nobody gives a shit how you completely eliminated the dandelions and clover. You're just going to have to face the fact that when your greatest pleasure in life is working tirelessly to achieve an artificial looking, overly manicured lawn, you're boring. Period. End of story. Stop telling me about your crappy lawn.