Things I Don’t Understand
I am very clever, we all know this to be true. But there are a lot of things that everyone seems to either understand or agree upon, that I just don’t get. They perplex me. Things like:
1. Why strawberries are considered a sexy food. They stain your whole mouth red when you bite into them. It looks like you’re bleeding. It’s actually kind of unpleasant, especially if you smile. And the little seeds are a liability too, they just get stuck in your teeth. None of this is sensual to me. I’m not saying I don’t like strawberries, I’m just confused as to why they’re always taken on romantic picnics or rooftop dinners or whatever. Stop bringing them. There’s no need to make it harder for me to look dazzling.
2. How square footage works. People always rattle these numbers off like it’s perfectly self-explanatory, but they’re meaningless to me. I tend to just make a generic face that could be interpreted either as surprised or impressed, and say something like “wow”, which can also be taken either way. It’s an exercise in bullshit. Although actually, I’m starting to suspect that no one else understands square footage either.
3. What Miracle Whip is. I know it’s some sort of polarizing substance that people get really worked up about and that it’s made up of suspicious chemicals and it’s nothing I would ever eat. But what is it? Is it like pretend whipped cream? Is it like pretend mayonnaise? What do you use it for, rednecks? (For some reason I feel that only trailer trash enjoy Miracle Whip. Is this true?)
4. Guys’ weight. Again, people say numbers at me and it means nothing. If you tell me that a guy is 5’11” and 185 pounds, I get no visual. I don’t know what that means — is he chubby? scrawny? more likely to be built? I don’t know. Tell me a girl is 5’9” and 103 lbs. and I know she should eat a sandwich. For a guy, you gotta give me more, because otherwise I don’t know if I should tell him to eat a sandwich or stop eating. This is important to me because I enjoy bossing people around.
These are the questions. . .