As a head's up, if we go on a date to a restaurant that has Chinese chicken salad on the menu, I'm gonna order it. It's my favorite thing to eat. You know why? It's like the culinary equivalent of Weezer's Blue Album: There's nothing on it that I don't like. Wonton noodles, bring it on! Orange segments, welcome to my world! Ginger-sesame dressing, nice to meet you, my name is Anna and I'm an Aries. I don't annoy my waitress by asking her to hold anything off my order and I don't run the risk of being disappointed with my selection. I'm thrilled with the entire arrangement.
So, when you chided me for being the kind of girl who'd order a salad on a date, it caught me off guard. Dude, I'm not one of those appletini-sipping, shrill Cosmo flippers; I genuinely enjoy this salad. Let's put it like this: If they had a magazine called Chinese Chicken Salad Monthly, I'd happily send away for a subscription. I'd probably subscribe to the online newsletter, too. If Chinese chicken salad was a Girl Scout cookie flavor, I'd order three boxes. This salad is my homie! We're tight bros from way back when.
But, you didn't drop it after I put the order in. You kept repeating the word like it was a question. "Salad? Really? Salad? There's so much to order here and you want...a salad?" YES, I ORDERED A FUCKING SALAD. I can't think of any area of my life where someone would make me feel terrible for ordering a salad. My mom and sisters love salads too. My friends love salads. I even love Minor Threat's song, "Salad Days." That's how much I love it!
Only you would ever make me feel bad/weird about my choice. I don't care if you shove your crispy chicken sandwich in your mouth whilst washing it down with a big ol' chocolate milkshake. Go for it! I couldn't care less. No need to get squirmy when I order something as inconsequential as a freakin' salad.
Come on. Let's not fight. Put the fork down. No, seriously, put the fork down because I'm not sharing this with you.