Meals are the most important food ingestions of the day. This is followed closely by snacks, and then accidental consumption of bugs and such. There’s a time and a place for each, as you damn well should know by now.
Breakfast, oh glorious breakfast. Ending one’s nightly period of fasting, self-imposed through unconscious sleep, with a morning energy boost. An egg, a sausage, a buttered toast, a tea. To start a day any other way is a travesty and a felony is some parts of some country you’ve never been to.
Recess is a nice little carb injection to split up your morning and power you through until midday. A piece of fruit, a granola bar, or a Dunkaroos will suffice, and suffice it will.
Lunch, which can consist of a sandwich, leftovers from the previous day, or someone else’s leftovers if you work in an office and get to the fridge early enough without the receptionist spying on you on the kitchen security camera which they didn’t even tell you about when you started working there and who is she anyway to police this area we’re all adults here and should be able to figure out our own dynamics, is good too.
Brunch is the weekend portmanteau, for when you wake up late and slightly hungover on the weekend, and the only thing you can manage to do to stave off the loneliness of withdrawal. You get your butts together with your friends, get to the cool new hip cool spot, and shoot various levels of shit, kinda like what these people do every episode.
Supper. Here’s where it gets a little tricky. The constitution of a supper is debatable at best, undebatable at worst. Like if your girlfriend tells you you’re going to supper, or your aunt invites your to a family supper, then sure, it’s supper. Someone else needs to call it supper first. That’s the criteria. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly make the decision to call this a supper. That’s well above my pay grade.” When not a supper, this evening gorgefest is known as dinner, and there’s nothing you can do about it.
Finally, the midnight snack – it is what it’s called, like a lawnmower or a facepuncher. Pour some midnight oil on a midnight pan and cook up some midnight treats with a little midnight trazodone so you can sleep through the night without the ghosts disturbing you with all their mid-night haunting.
[Editor’s note: For his weekday recess, the author will almost always enjoy a bowl of oatmeal to go with a banana and some cashews. He wonders if anyone at the office calls him “Oatmeal” behind his back. They must.]
[Author’s update: They do! Well, “Oatmeal Guy”, which is almost as good.]