1. I’ve had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich exactly once, in my late teens, and I hated it. On a related note, I had macaroni and cheese for the first time when I was sixteen and loved it.
2. Boob is a funny word, both to say and write.
3. I’m a pretty adventurous eater — give me the offal, give me the strange. Pile my plate. Hand me my fork. The same can’t be said of me and asparagus. Oh, I’ve eaten it. I’ve had asparagus in soups, in frittatas, with lemon and butter. I’ve discussed with my friends at length that peculiar thing it does to our pee. I’ve eaten asparagus wrapped with prosciutto, grilled, with risotto. I’ve admired its slender shape, appreciated the decisive snap of its stalk when broken, touched its pointy tip. And yet… I can’t stand it.
4. Sometimes I get so involved in whatever it is I’m doing (writing, reading, working on a project) that I don’t take a break to eat, or even to use the restroom. It’s as if I forget to pay attention to my body, and its needs.
5. I once announced to my mother when I was very young that I didn’t plan on getting married. She snorted and said, “You’ll change your mind, or you’ll die alone.” Now I tell her I don’t know if I’ll have children, and she snorts and says, “Then what’s the point of getting married? You’re going to die alone.”