Regina: What’s the most pathetic thing you ever did?

Sarah: That question is waaaaaay too broad, dude. I mean, you’ve got pathetic things you do for guys, pathetic things you do WITH guys, pathetic ways you’ve injured yourself, pathetic things involving food —

Regina: Food, yeah.

Sarah: What’s the most pathetic food-related thing I ever did?

Regina: Yeah.

Sarah: What’s the most pathetic food-related thing YOU ever did?

Regina: I asked you first.

Sarah: Okay…but I’m warning you, it involves Tater Tots.

Regina: Hee. Tater Tots.

Sarah: Dude, you have noooo idea.

Regina: Oh, but I think I do.

Sarah: Juuuuust you wait. Okay. It’s a Sunday. It’s a hungover Sunday. I’m on the couch with a plate of Tater Tots.

Regina: Hee.

Sarah: The average Tater Tot, as you know, is kind of on the greasy side.

Regina: Hee!

Sarah: The last Tater Tot shoots off my plate and rolls under the couch.

Regina: Hee…oh. Oh, no.

Sarah: Ohhhhhh yes.

Regina: No. You didn’t.

Sarah: Ohhhhhh, but I did.

Regina: You did not fish it out.

Sarah: Fished it out! From under the couch!

Regina: But you didn’t —

Sarah: Aaaaand ate it!

Regina: Oh, no.

Sarah: Speared it with a pen! Picked off the cat hair! Ate it! Pathetic!

Regina: Oh, my. That is pathetic.

Sarah: Told you!

Regina: But I? I can top that.

Sarah: What? No you can’t.

Regina: Can too!

Sarah: Nothing can top a linty Tater Tot.

Regina: I can easily top a linty Tater Tot. Can top it handily.

Sarah: Two linty Tater Tots?

Regina: Entiiiiiire meatloaf.

Sarah: Wow. I…I mean, wow.

Regina: Your Tater Tot is topped, missy.

Sarah: An entire meatloaf.

Regina: One woman, one sitting…one. Whole. Meatloaf.

Sarah: Jesus.

Regina: Not a small meatloaf, either. Normal, regulation-size meatloaf.

Sarah: Not a cute little single-serving —

Regina: No. Well, “single-serving,” yes, as it turned out. “Cute” or “little”? No. No, no.

Sarah: Any sides?

Regina: Loaves don’t have…sides. Do they?

Sarah: No, no, I mean side dishes. Any side dishes?

Regina: Nope.

Sarah: Potatoes? Slaw?

Regina: Nothing but loaf, my friend.

Sarah: Wow.

Regina: I know, right? I should have killed myself immediately afterwards, but I’d eaten so much that I couldn’t move.

Sarah: I’ve still heard worse.

Regina: In fact, I should just kill myself now before I eat a whole pork lo– wait. You’ve heard worse? Where, an After School Special about bulimia? Sarah, I ATE AN ENTIRE MEATLOAF.

Sarah: Yes, I understand that, but — okay. Did you use a fork?

Regina: No, I tied my hands behind my back and chowed it pie-eating-contest-style — of course I used a fork, what are you talking about?

Sarah: I’m trying to determine the relative level of pathos.

Regina: Okay, try to keep up here. I consumed, BY MYSELF, an INTACT LOAF of —

Sarah: I know that, but my point is that if you ate it with a fork instead of jamming it into your mouth with your hands, and you did not drop it on the floor before eating it, or pick it out of the trash and eat it, then perhaps suicide is a bit premature as a solution.

Regina: Do you not get that I ate the whole thing?

Sarah: Yes, Regina. I get that you ate the whole thing. I still don’t think it’s that bad. It’s not like you had to hold it up in front of the Dustbuster first to render it edible.

Regina: You held the Tater Tot up to the Dustbuster?

Sarah: No, not literally. I probably should have, though.

Regina: So it’s your position that it’s more pathetic to eat a bite-sized little snacky food that touched the ground than it is to eat a meal for six by yourself, then.

Sarah: It’s my position that it’s two completely different breeds of pathetic. I mean, yeah, you ate a large quantity, but at least it didn’t disappear under a piece of furniture.

Regina: No, it didn’t, because it couldn’t have, because it’s too big to disappear under a piece of furniture, because it’s —

Sarah: An entire meatloaf, yes, I know, but — look, think about it. First of all, I’d already eaten a whole plate of Tater Tots — I didn’t need one more. It’s not like I would have starved if I’d let that last Tater Tot go. Second of all, it’s not like it just fell on the floor and I picked it up, applied the five-second rule, and ate it. No, I got down on my hands and knees and used an instrument to retrieve it, and then I groomed it so that it would be suitable for eating. I did this for a single Tater Tot. When I had other food in the house.

Regina: Wait, can I ask a question?

Sarah: Sure.

Regina: How exactly did the Tater Tot get under the couch, anyway?

Sarah: I…don’t really know, actually. I think it landed on its side and kind of rolled under there. Why?

Regina: Oh, I was just wondering. I mean, it just sounds like one of those things where, like, it happened, but then if you tried to get a Tater Tot under the couch, you could never do it the same way again, you know?

Sarah: But why would you try to get a Tater Tot —

Regina: Never mind, forget I said anything.

Sarah: Anyway, my point is that the Tater Tot is just as pathetic as the meatloaf, but for different reasons.

Regina: Yeah, well, see how you feel about it when it’s you who ate a whole meatloaf.

Sarah: Dude, if it’s me who ate a whole meatloaf, a hole in the fabric of time is opening up in my bathroom and sucking Manhattan and most of the Bronx into deep space.

Regina: What? Oh. Ohhhhh yeah. Ew.

Sarah: I’m not feeling anything about it. I’m waving goodbye to my small intestine as it begins its vision quest in the East River.

Regina: Gross.

Sarah: Yeah, tell me about it.

Regina: But, see, you’re lucky! Because you have controls in place that prevent you from eating an entire meatloaf and then having to kill yourself.

Sarah: Right, but that’s only meat. There’s nothing stopping me from eating a whole pizza.

Regina: I’ve done that.

Sarah: Oh, so have I.

Regina: I mean, thin crust, but still.

Sarah: No, mine too, but…yeah, still.

Regina: When you can’t even leave one piece, for the sake of propriety?

Sarah: I know. And you think about leaving one piece. Because you feel like you shouldn’t eat the whole thing.

Regina: But it’s a little bitty piece, because they cut it Chicago-style.

Sarah: Yep. So you’re like, “Well, a regular piece, that I would leave, but this is such a small piece.”

Regina: “Not worth saving for a snack, even, really.”

Sarah: And you’d only save it to make yourself feel like less of a hog, but nobody’s around to witness the hoggery anyway…

Regina: So you eat it.

Sarah: And then right away you feel sick.

Regina: But not just because you ate too much pizza.

Sarah: No. Because you ate all the pizza.

Regina: By yourself.

Sarah: And nobody’s around, and yet…

Regina: And yet you feel like it shows on your face.

Sarah: Tooootally. You don’t want to go out because you feel like people know.

Regina: “There she goes, The Girl With No Food Shame.”

Sarah: “I heard she licks stuff up from the counter.”

Regina: “Mayonnaise, even.”

Sarah: And the next thing you know, you’re tied to a stake and the constable is lighting a bunch of twigs.

Regina: And that makes you feel even sicker, because you have all these issues with food that you think you shouldn’t.

Sarah: God, I know! Like, you roll your eyes at other women with the salad-eating and the “oh, I ate one M&M, I’m so fat now,” but then when you eat more than you quote-unquote should, you feel all icky about yourself.

Regina: It’s completely fucked up. I mean, “food shame.” What is that?

Sarah: This is what I was trying to say before. It’s one thing to feel food shame because you ate a lot. That’s, like, societal or something and I don’t think you should want to kill yourself because you ate a whole meatloaf. But the Tater Tot —

Regina: Oh, please. The Tater Tot is societal food shame too.

Sarah: Well, I think it’s logical for society to frown upon sub-couch snacking.

Regina: That’s not what I mean. Why did you feel food shame for eating that Tater Tot?

Sarah: Dude. Lint?

Regina: But you still ate it, right?

Sarah: Yeah. So? I mean, we’ve established that that’s pathetic.

Regina: Right. But why did you feel shame? You didn’t feel shame just for eating the linty Tater Tot. You felt shame because you felt like you shouldn’t have eaten the linty Tater Tot.

Sarah: But that’s the same thing. I mean, that’s the whole meaning of shame.

Regina: No, because — okay, let’s say Kiefer Sutherland is over at your house, and the two of you are enjoying some post-coital Tater Tots in front of the TV.

Sarah: Wow, that’s…a lot of information.

Regina: Heh. Sorry.

Sarah: I think I’ve got my head around it now. Go on.

Regina: Okay. So Kiefer’s balancing a plate of Tater Tots on his manly chest, and a Tot falls on the floor and rolls under the couch. Do you fish it out and eat it?

Sarah: Duh, no.

Regina: And why not?

Sarah: Well, just for starters, I’m in the middle of some kind of twisted fan-fic involving —

Regina: No, seriously. You don’t fish it out and eat it because…

Sarah: Because it’s pathetic!

Regina: No, because Kiefer’s there!

Sarah: But that’s the same thing!

Regina: No it isn’t. With nobody else around, you go after the Tater Tot, because you know it’s not considered acceptable behavior but there aren’t any witnesses, and because of that, you feel ashamed that you did it anyway, because it means you have no self-control. Or something.

Sarah: Right…but let’s say I’m not there. Let’s say Kiefer’s chilling on his couch with his own plate of Tater Tots, and one of them falls off the plate and onto his manly chest. If he’s on his own, he’s picking the Tot fragments out of his chest hair and eating them. If I’m there, he’s using a napkin.

Regina: If you’re there, he’s not needing a napkin, I don’t think.

Sarah: Heh. True. But you know what I mean.

Regina: Yeah, but it’s still food shame.

Sarah: Oh, I agree, but just because food shame comes from society doesn’t mean that certain food behaviors aren’t still pathetic. Like, maybe society makes me feel bad about myself for eating a gnarly Tater Tot, but that doesn’t mean society is wrong to do so. Because the Tot is in fact gnarly. Whereas I think the meatloaf shame is a whole different set of issues with femininity and the beauty myth and stuff. Like, things that women “don’t” and “shouldn’t” do, like eat a lot or whatever.

Regina: Oh, sure. But you don’t think the Tot is tied up with that too?

Sarah: Not that I remember my women’s studies class that well, but I don’t recall reading anything on the relationship of the Tater Tot to traditional gender roles.

Regina: Not the Tater Tot. The shame. Because it’s like the meatloaf — it’s not what desirable women do.

Sarah: But in the case of the Tater Tot, it’s not what desirable men do, either. It’s not desirable behavior, period. It’s like the scene in prison movies where the guy in solitary confinement kills a cockroach and eats it. It’s straight-up yucky and pathetic. But the meatloaf is different, because if a man ate an entire meatloaf, nobody would think that he’s less of a man for doing that, whereas when a woman eats a lot, you get into a weird area where she’s not as feminine because she has a big appetite. You know?

Regina: So the Tater Tot is not about failing to meet a feminine ideal.

Sarah: No. The Tater Tot is about failing to meet a sanity ideal. I mean, I come from a family of big eaters, so maybe it’s not the sexiest thing in the world for me to eat a whole pizza now and then but I can live with it. The Tater Tot is like, what am I, the Unabomber?

Regina: But that’s just as fucked up.

Sarah: I agree. Wait, I don’t know if I agree. What’s just as fucked up, again?

Regina: Okay. I feel pathetic for eating the meatloaf. You feel pathetic for eating the Tater Tot.

Sarah: With you so far.

Regina: And it’s fucked up that society’s idea of what a woman quote-unquote should do, or eat, or whatever, influences my feelings about the meatloaf.

Sarah: Correct.

Regina: So isn’t also it kind of fucked up that society’s idea of what’s quote-unquote sane influences your feelings about the Tater Tot?

Sarah: Let me get this straight. You want to apply moral relativism to my…eating a Tater Tot…that rolled under the couch.

Regina: No. Well, yes. Well, no. Your food shame came from doing something that others might perceive as crazy. Right?

Sarah: Right. Crazy spinster eating food off the floor.

Regina: Okay. But if you think about it, on a scale of crazy from one to Michael Jackson, the Tater Tot really isn’t that bad.

Sarah: Oh, it’s pretty bad.

Regina: It’s not that bad! You name the Tater Tot? Bad. You claim that the Tater Tot is sending you coded messages? Really bad. You flick a few carpet fibers off the Tater Tot and eat it? Not that bad, dude.

Sarah: I guess not.

Regina: I mean, I wouldn’t bring it up on a first date or anything, but it’s not like you did time. So you ate a grubby Tater Tot. Big whoop.

Sarah: And I only did it that once.

Regina: See? Not that bad.

Sarah: Neither is the meatloaf.

Regina: I still don’t think you comprehend the size of the meatloaf. Who eats an entire loaf of anything?

Sarah: It’s all relative, like you said before. It’s not like you do that every night, and if you used utensils and enjoyed the meatloaf, who cares?

Regina: Right. Who cares.

Sarah: I mean, I don’t care.

Regina: Of course you don’t care. You ate a Tater Tot that fell under the couch.

Sarah: But that’s just it — everyone has a food shame story. Yours is the meatloaf. Mine is the Tater Tot. The food shame stories cancel each other out, you know?

Regina: Well, ours do, at least.

Sarah: How did we get on the subject of food shame, anyway?

Regina: What? Oh, see, I was doing some dishes earlier and I cut my finger on a noodle that dried on the inside of a stock pot — you know, the part of the finger underneath the fingernail? And it really hurt, so I yelled at the noodle to go fuck itself, and now I think I have gangrene in my finger, so before I died my incredibly pathetic death, I thought I’d call and see if you had anything to add.

Sarah: Oh.

Regina: I can’t believe I verbally abused a noodle.

Sarah: Oh, please. Everyone bitches at food. My mother threatened the gravy at least a dozen times on Thanksgiving.

Regina: Did it work?

Sarah: Like a charm.

Regina: Yeah, see, the noodle wouldn’t even come off the side of the pot. Crusty little bastard.

Sarah: Now that’s food shame.

Regina: When it turns on you? I know.

Sarah: That happened to me with a bean once. It fell on the counter, it wouldn’t let me pick it up, it kept squirting out of my grasp, and the next thing I know I’m screaming “DIE BEAN DIE” and hammering it with a spatula.

Regina: Yep, been there. And for a second, you feel all victorious.

Sarah: You defeated the evil bean.

Regina: The bean defied you, and the bean paid the ultimate price.

Sarah: The other beans will cower before you.

Regina: Then you do the voice-over.

Sarah: “In a world where beans run amok…”

Regina: “…only one woman can face them…and live.”

Sarah: “A woman of courage and superhuman strength…”

Regina: “…a legend in her own kitchen.”

Sarah: “They call her…dun dun dunnnnn…”

Regina: “Beanula. In theaters everywhere, March 2003.”

Sarah: And then you realize that instead of working on your goddamn novel, you’ve just wasted five minutes narrating a comic book adventure in which the world counts on you to save it from tiny legumes.

Regina: And that Beanula is a stupid name, so it’s not even a good comic book in the first place and you should just kill yourself because you’re crazy and a bad writer.

Sarah: I like Beanula!

Regina: No, Beanula doesn’t work. Beanula is, like, a vampire bean. We’d have to be the Bean Killers or something.

Sarah: Yeah, I guess. But I still really like Beanula. Tiny little teeth, tiny little cape, turns into a very very tiny little bat — that’s a good comic book. I’d read that.

Regina: We could do a whole series, really. “Frankenbean”!

Sarah: Totally! Like, with the crazy chef who assembles him out of parts of other beans?

Regina: Yeah! And then he brings him to life by…how would he bring him to life?

Sarah: Uh…uh…sticking a fork in the toaster oven?

Regina: Good one! And then we could do “Bride Of Frankenbean,” and she’d have a teeny little fright wig!

Sarah: Brilliant! And let’s not forget — “Night of the Living Beans!”

Regina: Clawing their way out of the garbage!

Sarah: Staggering across the fields towards human civilization!

Regina: Moaning “braaaaaains”!

Sarah: Zombeans!

Regina: Excellent!

Sarah: What else could we do?

Regina: Hmm. “Hallobean”? That’s the one where he wears the Shatner mask, right?

Sarah: Oh, man. With the teeny tiny butcher knife.

Regina: I know. But would people, like, run in terror? Or would they just go, “Okay, whatever,” and squish him with a fork?

Sarah: I don’t know. Squish him with a fork, probably.

Regina: God. We’ve just spent how many minutes on the bean horror franchise?

Sarah: We also said the words “Tater Tot” about a bazillion times. Don’t think too deeply on it.

Regina: You’re probably right.

Sarah: We’re going to die alone.

Regina: We’re going to be the grandmothers of beansploitation. Founders of cinematic movements don’t die alone.

Sarah: Oh. Okay then.

Regina: Hey, did you eat that bean?

Sarah: The one I flattened? No. Why?

Regina: Oh, just wondering. Now, if it had fallen on the floor and you’d stepped on it —

Sarah: Oh, go eat a meatloaf.

Regina: Shut up.

Sarah: You shut up.

December 2, 2002

Tags:   food   friends   shrouds of shame