So I was scrolling through my Instagram feed yesterday and my dear dear most-beloved friends were having the most mind boggling breakfasts, like pomegrenate mango chihuahua smoothie bowls and oatmeal multigrain phoenix egg pancakes drizzled with the phantasmagoric aura of thunderclouds, or something like that I can’t recall the exact ingredients right now, and there I was sitting with this plastic round thing in my other hand, waiting this endless wait for it to finally beep and thus signal the coming of my plain freaking prata. Did we, as a society, suddenly decide to eat healthy and was I not invited to this discussion? I would have brought the appropriate style of suicide vest for such a meeting, my friends. I would have behaved, and exploded in perfect synchrony with your powerpoint slides. But okay, in all fairness, some of those smoothie bowls look pretty good, almost like works of art with the arrangement of the fruits on top, and the little berries here and there, and the delicate balance of self loathing and control freakdom – just a touch of both, of course, dangling invisibly in the air around it. Didn’t we use to DRINK our freaking smoothies, when did we start using bowls and spoons and perfectly cut fruits for our smoothies – I thought the whole point was to dump everything into a blender and down our throats – is this like a passive aggressive movement against plastic straws? What have plastic straws ever done to you and the sanctity of your life on earth, I would like to know.