I hate you, here’s a burger

“When an adult shouts at you, do you still feel a knot in your stomach?” I asked one of my best friends.

“We are adults,” Michelle replied, probably rolling her eyes behind her screen, “And no. Only if it’s my dad. Who yelled at you?”

“Some promoter. I’m pretty sure he was being a dick and I was right, but still, it sucks. Why does it make me sad?”

“Your parents never had much authority. Perhaps you’re just not used to it.”

Michelle is probably right. As she always is, most of the time. I got yelled at. I’m 25 years old but immediately turned eight and wanted to hide in a corner. And thus my brain works; a part of me wanted to shout back at him, to let him know that he had no right to be upset, as I was right to say what I had said. As I was thinking those thoughts, something popped into my mind. Every single mistake I have ever made and every single person I have ever wounded. How dare you stand up for yourself and yell at this lovely shouting adult man? Don’t you remember when you were 13 years old and stole a piece of marcipan from a colleagues’ fridge? Remember your ex-boyfriend Peter who still doesn’t speak to you? You should just let this man shout at you. You deserve it. 

Which I will admit, is not healthy.

So I spent yesterday thinking about all the people who hated me. Then coincidentally went to an open mic, where I was certain to find at least a few more people to add to the list. After the show was over, Matthew grabbed my hand and dragged me across the street from the pub and down a dark alley. WIN! I immediately thought, but it turns out that he hadn’t planned on kissing me up against a brick wall, instead, he was taking us to a small hipster restaurant, located in another dark alley. How. Cool. Is. That. I ordered a Meat Burger and it was without a doubt the best thing I have ever tasted in London. Why are you hiding your good food in dark alleys here? How can I have lived here for almost two years and only eat this food now? Why must this happen in the middle of me being awfully broke? Do they deliver? How can people still think that there isn’t a God?

My food adventures have just begun. Tonight, hopefully Phill and Tim are going to take me to – allegedly – the best kebab in London. My friends, you just got competition. Game. Set. Match.*

*not sure what that means, but it’s what came up when I googled “ready set match”. 

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