Dear Lean Cuisine:
Why? Why can't I quit you?
I feel that we are in a horrible, dead-end relationship. I leave you and vow never to return. And then I come back.
You are so seductive with your perfectly sized box, with the white background and the clean font. The pictures on the front of your box look like frozen gourmet masterpieces, certain to make me thinner and more beautiful while keeping me happy because I can have lasagna with no guilt over calories and fat and evil.
I clutch you tightly to my chest, so happy to see you, willing to believe all of your promises.
But you LIE, Lean Cuisine, you LIE TO ME EVERY TIME.
The food inside your box looks nothing like the food on the outside of your box. In fact, it looks nothing like food at all. I BELIEVE with my WHOLE HEART that when I cook your contents they will look and taste exactly like sweet and sour chicken. I excitedly heat you up, and pull you eagerly from the loving embrace of the microwave. And then the horror begins.
This, this stuff that I have heated and longed for...it is colored squares. I know this spongy square is a red pepper because it is red. That is the only clue. And, oh, is it red. It is like Rudolph's nose has been placed in my lunch. Nowhere else is this particular shade of red seen in nature. That squishy bit is chicken because...I am pretty sure it is chicken. Chicken can look sort of white and jiggly can't it?
I persevere. Maybe I should not judge you by your appearance alone. After all, you are frozen food. One probably shouldn't expect it to look like real food...but the taste is so awful. So retched. Like maybe you were eaten once before you were reconstituted and frozen. And I have to throw half of you away. Leaving myself disgusted, unsatisfied, and STILL COMPLETELY FUCKING HUNGRY. And to add insult to injury, the entire office now smells like fish and ketchup. Which makes no sense. There should not be fish. There should definitely not be ketchup. What is wrong with you? Why do you refuse to deliver on your promises?
Well, in the words of our illustrious ex-president: Fool me once shame on you...fool me twice...fool me once (or twelve times) can't get fooled again. We are through, and this time I mean it.
Ooh, is that fettucine? It looks delicious!