An ode to Sunday morning salad eaters

You know who you are

There is nothing quite like the lovely institution of Mac on a Sunday morning.

I’m in my most unflattering sweatpants, the only makeup on my face is whatever’s leftover from the night before, and I say “good morning” to everyone even though it is usually well past noon. When I walk in, relieved because there is no money-hungry service trip to avoid at the entrance, I don’t even lift my head up to take a look around.

I have two reasons for doing this – number one, because I don’t even want to make eye contact with anyone when I resemble a small troll, number two, because each week my routine is the exact same. It’s a beeline straight for the breakfast side of things, obviously, due to the well-proven fact that nothing solves a hangover quite like breakfast potatoes. Yes, okay, I know they’re frozen, I know Lower’s home fries are way better, but I can’t resist. It’s what gets me through the week. I drag myself out of bed for these lil starchy nuggets.

To be honest, most of the time even a slight glance at the steak tips and brightly-colored green beans sends me reeling, but there really is nothing that sickens me quite like the sight of a girl (sometimes even a guy!!!) piling a medium-sized salad bar container with spinach, carrots, celery, and no croutons. I can hardly watch. The fact that she is about to actually eat these raw vegetables, send them through her digestive system at a time like this, is something that astounds me.

It is an act that very seriously and actively attempts to compensate for the four pieces of Pino’s (and if you think Roggie’s is better, you are wrong) she took down at three am, even though everyone knows calories don’t count after midnight.

And, no, I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not jealous. This salad-loving girl in her coordinating Plex outfit has probably never tried the breakfast potatoes! I pity her! She has no idea what she’s missing!

This girl, just a representative of a group of people who must really have their lives together, gives me an uneasiness that I experience nowhere else in my college life. All the same, I must admit – deep down beneath my mistrust of her and her “kale” salad, I have no choice but to commend her for leading a life I could never imagine myself taking part in.

But – for all my salad-eaters out there – just try the infamous Mac breakfast potatoes, and I assure you, a Sunday salad-eater you will be no more.

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Boston College