I’m sitting at my kitchen table, eating salad for dinner. It’s only half of my dinner, but I make myself eat the salad first–the other stuff is the reward. I’m eating my salad, and the leaves taste sort of fuzzy, and I wonder if I should have washed it first. Probably. I never think about it in America, but vegetables need to be washed here in Japan.
But the real thing is, while I chew on my slightly fuzzy, probably dirty mystery genus lettuce leaves, I realize that I don’t really like salad.
I think back to the past, and know that there are times when I have liked salad. Seriously, truly believed salad was delicious, preferred salad to anything else on the restaurant menu liked salad. But now I have to wonder, am I just horrible at making salad (probably), or at some point in the past did I just trick myself into thinking that I liked salad because I wanted to be the sort of person who liked salad?
If the latter is the case, I’m going to have to reconsider my “dislike” or pizza.