I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve tried, but I can’t stop.
I can’t stop eating spinach.
Alright, so I know that sounds weird and neurotic, but it’s true. I’ve been eating so much of the stuff I’ve been forcing my mom to go down to Costco to buy me these unearthly-sized bags… something like one and 1/2 kilograms of green, leafy heroin. The bags are so big, I swear they’re bigger than my torso.
My poor little Chinese mother has unwittingly become my pusher.
I cram half the bag into a pot, and after two minutes it’s shrunken down so much I end up being forced to eat almost the entire bag to feel sated. This is how the bastards reel you in.
Yes, there are many other things much worse to be addicted to (and frankly, I probably already have been with most of them), but I can’t explain this rather sudden obseession with Spinacia Oleracea. Maybe I’m slowly turning into the Swamp Thing. Or Popeye (“Huggu-guh-guh!”). Or that annoying little green spud that always hung out with the Jolly Green Giant, which I always expected would get stepped on by accident. “Ho Ho Hoooo-ooops!”
Enough of that. As you were.
