The fraud

Sometimes I feel like a total phony (in many, many ways actually, but we only have time to address on example today).

I've claimed on several occasions that I love salad. And while that is still monumentally true, my devotion to greens isn't exactly as pure and wholesome as I'd like the masses to believe.

I prepared a salad for lunch this afternoon and included sliced carrots, grape tomatoes, diced cucumber and shredded turkey atop a bed of fresh arugula and spinach. Since I eat in the office and no longer venture home for lunch, I packed a small container of Bolthouse Greek Yogurt dressing to pour over my salad when I was ready to eat.

I grabbed my meal at 1:30 p.m. and added the dressing to my salad, shaking the container vigorously to coat its contents evenly. I was in hog heaven for the first several bites, but when I got to the last few mouthfuls, I noticed that I didn't do such a great job of covering the greens at the bottom of the container with dressing and veggies. No matter, I thought, gathering a large forkful. It's all delicious.

I put a bite of naked arugula and spinach in my mouth ...

... and I gagged.

I literally gagged.

I couldn't even do it for the vitamins and minerals. I put the lid back on the container and promptly tossed it in the fridge.

I am such a fraud.

Clayton's forever telling me that he just doesn't understand people who love salad. To him, eating a giant plate of greens is the equivalent of going outside and eating a bag of yard clippings. Like a true snob, I used to give him such a hard time about it, claiming that he just "doesn't get it".

But here I am, practically spitting my salad into a napkin like a child. Why? Because it tasted exactly like a bag of mulch.

Apparently I only like salad if the dressing and its toppings are evenly distributed across each and every leaf of lettuce.

And I'm almost scared to admit to him that I actually hate carrots and only eat them because I think they will eventually give me x-ray vision.

But I still love the other vegetables, I PROMISE.

Well, except for rhubarb.

And okra because it's just disgusting. Fry it in oil all you want, but you can't cover sadness in breading.

I'm just going to stop talking now.



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