someone cares about what somebody else had for lunch.

A wise woman once said, No One Cares What You Had For Lunch. Although the book looks a bit silly, that phrase has always haunted me whenever I want to write about the fabulous thing I ate for lunch, or breakfast, or dinner, or whatever. Sometimes I listened to the warning, sometimes I ignored it, but then worried that I was resorting to the style of my livejournal days. [Quote from 2001: so i took a nap this afternoon. i seem to be having so much trouble sleeping lately. i don't get it. I only keep these around so I can be thoroughly embarrassed by my younger self.]


But a bigger part of my response to this whole assertion is that it is a LIE. Why else would I read about what 100 New Yorkers had for breakfast with such rapt attention? Why would I start theorizing about the day of the week this survey was taken, as it seemed odd that so many people had such hearty breakfasts? Why would I become motivated once again to make my breakfasts more creative, more pretty, and perhaps even fashion cute napkins and place mats so the whole meal looks more like the ones at simply breakfast?

Maybe it's true that no one cares what I had for lunch (or breakfast). But I care about what you ate today. And if you took a picture of it, I'd be even more fascinated.


For the record, I had a rare breakfast provided by work: some fresh fruit, a honey wheat bagel with walnut cream cheese, and chai tea at home.