Don’t Touch My Edamame

A real friend won’t let anyone come between you and your eating disorder. That’s why she jumps in and says, “let’s just order two,” when that stupid bitch suggests we share my order.

Here’s the thing: When I order edamame at a sushi restaurant, it’s for me and me alone. Eating is a rare and guilty pleasure, and I want to savor every moment of it. Down to the last fucking bean.

So, no, I’m not ordering for the table to share. And don’t even think about grabbing for a bean with your dirty ass hands. I don’t care if you’re a starving refugee. You might get slapped. Even my husband knows better than to touch my food.