Death by Plastic

A couple weeks ago I had a panic attack about plastic. I've been really good about bringing my lunch to work every day ever since I took the Food Network's Brown-Bag Challenge in September (yes, I do things like that). But for the past few weeks, as I heated up my healthy lunch in its Tupperware container, all I could think about was how the plastic was seeping chemicals into my food that I would soon eat that would soon give me cancer that would soon MURDER me. Death by plastic. Hence, the panic attack. 


So, I went out and bought myself a set of glass Pyrex containers and I've been professing the good word to anyone I see eating or drinking out of plastic. For example, I watched my friend drink a bottle of water and told her, "You're going to die."  I know they appreciate my concern.


Anyway, just as I was getting over my fear of plastic, Brian tells me this:

Apparently canned goods are even worse than plastic. This news sent me into a(nother) downward spiral. I not only panicked that my soup was surreptitiously plotting my death but that my cat was sure to die soon, too. I started transferring his canned food into Pyrex containers. I eventually realized that this wasn't going to do any good. 


Realistically,  I can't eliminate canned goods from my life. A lot of my favorite things come in cans --beans, tuna, PUMPKIN. I may love baking, but I'm not fucking making my own pumpkin puree*.  I'm poor; I don't have the kind of technology needed for that in my kitchen. Actually, my roommate did recently supply us with a food processor but I don't know how put it together so I never use it.  It's like a god damn jigsaw puzzle with knives. Anyway, it's not going to happen. Ever. I will continue to make BPA-filled baked goods and kill myself and all of my friends. 


The thing is, I worry about shit like this yet continue to drink every day weekend. It's not breaking news that alcohol is linked to life-threatening diseases, but I somehow find ways to ignore that. Obviously, I use some backwards thinking. Once my mom asked me why I wouldn't drink milk. I said, "Because I refuse to drink my calories." She responded by pointing to the beer in my hand.





*I'm sure my friend Kyle is thinking this is pathetic of me. He once called me a "microwave mom." I hated him for days.