April 04, 2018
I woke up, the still morning air cool and crisp. It was silent, a heavy fog looming over the roof of my house. I padded down the stairs, twelve years old, wearing the nicest slides I had in the early morning. I was too lazy to look for other ones, but it didn't matter at the time.
I approached the door of a perfect creation on this planet that held the demon from the deepest darkest pit of hell. Little did I know of the bitterness that was about to flood my mouth.
I was approaching the fridge.
I pulled open the door of the fridge, light flooding my eyes as if the Oscars were going down in heaven itself. My eyes flickered over the orange juice, the whipped cream, the leftover pancakes from last night's dinner. (yes, i had pancakes for dinner.) But it wasn't breakfast I wanted. It was already eleven in the afternoon, I had slept in as usual.
My thick self wanted a salad. I pulled out lettuce, tomatoes, ranch, a variety of greens, even carrots. I pulled out all the salad goods. But I also pulled out the cilantro, suspecting nothing. I sprinkled cilantro here, cilantro there, cilantro E V E R Y W H E R E. I stabbed my salad with my fork, raised the bite of food to my mouth, and chewed.
Five seconds later I wished I had been born as a toothbrush.
Pain, I remember the pain. It was like someone shoved soap into my mouth. It tasted worse than a construction workers ass crack. It completely screwed up my salad. I remember tripping while stumbling to the bathroom on my gorgeous slides. I got hair in my mouth, so my hair smelled like chewed-up cilantro the rest of the day. I landed flat on my back. The cilantro went straight to the back of my mouth, and I began to cry. My sister heard me and stepped on my stomach. I curled up into a ball with my slides, the only thing that would never love me back.
The moral of the story is fuck cilantro.