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An open letter to girls who hate salad but eat it anyway

Eat your f'in sandwich

It's noon on a Wednesday, and your stomach is burbling and screeching like a feral cat.

You haven't eaten anything since breakfast, which was an overripe banana. There are two things on your mind: meat and bread. You don't care how you get your sandwich, but just that it's in your mouth immediately.

You're at your local lunch joint, salivating for something greasy, juicy, and way bigger than it should be. But you are suddenly stricken by guilt as lycra-wearing girl-clones line up one by one to order their custom-made salads.

"Avocado," one of them whines.

"Chia seeds," another echoes.

Against your will, a magnetic force pushes you from the sandwich line into the salad line, and before you know it, it's your turn to order.

What are you trying to prove? To show the world that you are "health-conscious"? To show the world that you care about your body, that you read about the benefits of flax and quinoa and kale? It's good for me, you think. It'll allow me to go to town on a cookie later, you think. Your friends have disinvited all things gluten, oil, and meat to the party, and left these rejects to hang out with you. But why spend your precious lunch hour (or half hour or 15-minutes) with a lunch that will leave you unsatisfied?

Eating is one of those divine moments that can make or break your day. So get something you enjoy. Eat protein and don't be embarrassed about it. Make the salad-liners jealous.

Don't choke down another evil leaf. Don't drown that field of sadness in any more creamy vinaigrette. Stop torturing yourself. Shut up and eat your f'in sandwich.