It tricky to go shopping and not return with more than you expected. That’s because of Willpower.
The point of the holiday isn’t to partake of cranberry sauce, which is possibly the best straight-out-of-the-can food there is, but to partake of cranberry sauce across the table from someone you might not ordinarily see or even like all that much. Somebody you know — not some line cook paid $5.50 an hour — has to scrape that cranberry sauce out of the can into a bowl. Otherwise, so help me, it doesn’t count.
I am not uniformly miserly. I allow myself the pleasure of good beer, periodic meals out at places where the entrees cost more than ten dollars, and, now and again, a vacation. But waste still feels deeply difficult.
At nearly $6 a box, the taste of unconditional love comes at an unaffordable price.
Fast food is cheap because it’s only made of 3/4 food; the other 1/4 is our childhood memory of how the food should taste.
Retirement is so far away, and who knows what the world will look like then, and maybe we’ll all have flying DeLoreans that run on garbage. How can we really prepare for that? A zombie apocalypse, on the other hand, is easy to anticipate.
The organic spinach costs 70 cents more, and weighs four ounces less. The regular spinach, eaten every week, could make my husband’s cancer come back. Maybe.