Posts tagged fish
Posts tagged fish
I’ve never been one of those “eat lunch in the park” kind of girls. You know the type with the work-appropriate sundresses, eating colorful salads and reading about DIY tampon doilies or whatever.
I’m more of a “sweaty, dirty pants-wearing, huffing food into my mouth over the keyboard and crying” kind of girl. (For more on this check out my post: How to Eat a Bag of Tostitos “Hint of Lime” Chips in One Sitting )
But today I decided to “go out and get some sun!”*
On my way to the park, I picked up some pan-seared salmon from Cafetasia off of Broadway. It had a B rating but I like to live on the edge.
"Pan-seared" turned out to be a generous term, as what was handed to me was a plastic container of gray fish soup.
"F**k it, not turning back now,” I thought, walking past a teen couple dry-humping on a mound of grass in Washington Square Park.*
I quickly scanned my surroundings for a vacant bench with enough space on either side so that I wouldn’t have to make human contact. Next I uncovered my salmon soup. It smelled like my five year-old sister’s wet swimsuit, but as it was my only available sustenance, I dove in.
Apart from the sloshing mixture beneath it, it really wasn’t that bad. I started snacking on the accompanying container of white rice, alternating bites and was having a pretty good time with it.
Soon a homeless gentleman man pulled up next to me and spread some cardboard down for a nap. Things were looking up.
Then it happened: I turned, grabbing my purse and the plastic container holding my salmon soup crashed to the ground, splashing oily fish water all over my pants.
"Raaaaah!" I yelled, to the surrounding people’s blank stares.
F**k the park.
JUST EAT THE FOOD
Have you ever spilled s**t on your pants? Done something embarassing in a public setting? Email me at: firstname.lastname@example.org. Let’s talk about it.
* As my mother often suggests to me with anxious eyes in a tone usually reserved for mental patients on the verge of breakdown.
* May or may not have lingered a little too long looking at them. I’m a creep. It’s my cross to bear.