“Dinner Party”
Nov 02, 2019I hate food. Not sure why or for how long. I’d rather not have anything to do with it. But food is life, so I have to have it in my life.
Inviting me to a dinner party is the worst thing you can do for me and yourself. I will kick and scream my way to get out of it. You will either hate me because I didn’t go with you or because I did go with you.
If I don’t go, I will be just fine sitting at home by myself, possibly staring at the wall, twiddling my thumbs, but probably catching up on tv shows I haven’t watched in months, or making new music I haven’t had a chance to make. You, however, will be miserable because you’re the fifth wheel, again—when will she ever find a guy to settle down with? Or you’ll be just fine because you don’t have to deal with my nonsense for a night. You can go out and be yourself and laugh with all your friends and talk about all those memories you don’t want to tell me. No judgment here. It’s nice to have a night to yourself and get it all out, eat what you want to eat, drink what you want to drink, friends enjoying the company of friends. But, still, that nagging voice in the back of your mind: why is she here alone again? Where is her boyfriend? He must be an asshole for not spending the night with her.
But let’s now imagine I came out with you tonight and I had a terrible time. The food is all wrong. I can’t eat any of this shit. Your friends don’t care about me or my needs! Who is this fair to? Not you, not me, not your friends. We all end up feeling like shit. All because I was trying to be a nice guy. The hero, always looking out for everyone. Well, thanks, Mr. Hero, you fucking ruined everyone’s night. We got food that 110% of the people on the planet love, so we just knew you’d be into it. And you show up and poo-poo our fine delicacies. You literally pulled your pants down and shit on our new dining room table just to prove how right you are that not everyone thinks the same way. It’s unacceptable and you’re a disgrace to this community. We don’t see whatever it is she sees in you, and we’d like to kindly ask you to leave.
So I leave. And I don’t feel good about it. You stayed behind. We decided it would be best in this instance. You can try to explain to your friends how I don’t mean to be this way, I just am. And they question your judgment in men—again. And you’ll cry and they’ll console you. And you’ll finish the wine and cheese that your shitty boyfriend was too good for.
And I’ll walk down the street back to your apartment, looking for some shitty fast food place that’s still open. They’re all still open. It’s New York! We got your burgers and nuggets and chickens and tacos! So it’s just a matter of what shitty food I’d rather have tonight. Probably gonna settle on Taco Bell cos there’s no Del Taco in this city. Fuck, if you could just have the comfort of the familiar rancid meat everything would be alright.