Happy Fucking Fourth of July

It’s almost two on the fourth of July, and I’m hiding upstairs with my dog, trying to pregame some decompression. Company will be arriving soon, or hours from now. No way to tell. The mother in law first. She’s great. But there’ll be a tray of cutlets she’s brought because once, upon noticing no one was eating the cutlets she’d brought, I ate a cutlet. I cannot watch someone watching the food they brought be ignored. I know that pain. The casual salesmanship of someone who’s trying to not look desperate. “Try a cutlet. I brought them. They’re pretty good.” Had to be done. I ate a cutlet. I told her, “This is delicious.” For ten years now, she’s come in carrying a tray of cutlets. “Lauren. I brought those cutlets you love.”

I don’t even understand the fucking point of a tray of cutlets. You’re just supposed to chew on a deep fried cutlet? Dry? Jesus Christ.

I’ll have three of them.

I just remembered I get to paywall things again. God I missed that.