I haven’t eaten all day. Mostly because I’ve been waiting for my mother to return from the grocery store. She’s been gone for like two hours so I just knew I was gonna put the smash on something good upon her arrival. So I’m ready like a motherfucker.
She returns with four items, three of which are non-food items which surprises the fuck outta me considering that there is very little here to eat.
Disappointed, I go into the kitchen to make a PBJ. I spread the peanut butter on the bread. Look in the fridge. There is no jelly. None. I don’t even see the fucking jar. I look in the cabinet to see if there’s one unopened and there is none. It has to be some type of trick. There’s ALWAYS jelly in the crib. It’s like ranch dressing and butter. It just has to be there.
I even go around the house seeing if perhaps someone just has it in their room.
None to be found. And it’s at this point that the thought of murdering my whole family pops into my brain. Briefly. Couldn’t have been more than ten minutes three seconds. What am I supposed to do with this dry ass peanut butter sandwich? Surely I can’t eat this. But the hood kid in me won’t let me just throw it away. That’d be wasting food.
So now I’m just angry because I really don’t know what to do. I have to save as much money as I can right now so I can’t afford to go out to eat every day like I have been doing.
Alas, I eat the sandwich. And it’s quite possibly the maddest I’ve ever been whilst consuming food. I try to convince myself that it’s good but it’s not. It fucking sucks. Have you ever eaten a peanut butter sandwich with no jelly? It’s the fucking worst. It’s dry. There’s no real texture to it. It’s like eating oppression. It’s just sadness all around.
Ten minutes later, my sister comes in the house FROM OUTSIDE with the jelly.
Why was the jelly outside, you ask? She had it in her hand when the phone rang. She decided to smoke a cigarette, so she took her conversation outside before she realized she was still holding the jar of jelly.