Seriously, why is this a thing?
— russell frost (@russellfrost) March 4, 2017
Here is a short list of things I give more of a shit about than I do the grocery cart contents of poor people:
Oscar dresses (red lace whyyy).
The Remy Ma/Nicki Minaj feud.
How long a Diet Coke lasts before it goes bad.
The names of Kick’s stuffed dinosaurs and their goings-on when we are not home.
What my sister ate for lunch yesterday.
Putting my clothes in seasonal order.
The identities of our past neighbors’ boyfriends.
Winners of various reality TV shows (Shirley was ROBBED on Top Chef).
How toenails can grow at different rates despite being on the same foot.
These are all things I care about more than I care about what the person in front of me who is using a benefit card to buy groceries is buying. They’re buying caviar and a bottle of ketchup? Whatevs. They’re buying nothing but wholesome foods in bulk? Okay. I once checked out of my local bodega with two bottles of whiskey, a tub of guac and baby-bottle nipples, who the fuck am I to judge? I do not GET this. Don’t we have other things to do?
Do people who are fascinated with this stuff need a hobby? I’d like them to come help me re-organize the cabinet in which we keep Kick’s art supplies. That is becoming a six month project. That would occupy their minds so that they don’t have to think about po’ folks buying Skittles. Or Chewy Sprees. Have you guys ever had Chewy Sprees? They’re AMAZING.
Why do I need to know what brand of juice box the poor family one house over is getting? Because I paid six cents into it with my taxes? I paid for fucking Donald Trump’s election with my taxes, too, and I have no earthly idea what the fuck is going on there, either. If my intimate knowledge of somebody’s grocery cart is required because I paid for it, can someone please explain this Russia shit to me like I’m a stupid person?
The people who get het up about this sort of thing, don’t these people have Netflix? I still haven’t seen Stranger Things, and I want to watch all the movies in which Michael Fassbender takes off his clothes, and there are apparently lots of those. I need to figure out if not caring at all about The Crown is some kind of moral failing. I have six books to read and one of them uses the word “puss” like a Midwestern version of “pussy,” is that a thing?
And can we get back to how it is possible to fuck up Best Picture when it is like literally your only job all year long, to get one event right?