The hangry struggle is real, ok.
Don’t even pretend like it has never happened to you. You’re out at a restaurant, a little later than usual as is, and are completely ravenous. You tenaciously order your favourite linguine without a second look at the menu. And then the waiting begins.
You know that feeling you get when an hour later your meal is nowhere to be seen? Like you could actually grab a fork and stab it into your partner’s eye if they ask you one more time whether you want some of their leftover trail mix. Yeah, that is hangry.
Don’t even pretend like it has never happened to you. You’re out at a restaurant, a little later than usual as is, and are completely ravenous. You tenaciously order your favourite linguine without a second look at the menu. And then the waiting begins.
You know that feeling you get when an hour later your meal is nowhere to be seen? Like you could actually grab a fork and stab it into your partner’s eye if they ask you one more time whether you want some of their leftover trail mix. Yeah, that is hangry.
Hangry is a clever yuppie amalgamation that essentially means you are so intensely hungry you are driven into a demonic rage.
I came very close to that today. I was essentially harassed by a woman, oh, at least three times my age, on the pitfalls of my work’s Facebook use.
I am a media officer. I am 23. I am Generation Y. I constantly go over my mobile data plan. I know Facebook.
15 minutes into the call she was still telling me how many more ‘likers’ even she had than our Facebook page, and that Facebook was all about that instantaneous connectivity. And did you know, that if someone comments on your page you should always respond?
WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME?!
This saga all unfolded like two minutes before I was about to go the kitchen and hoover my lunch, so my tolerance for her incessant criticism was at an all time low.
Do you know what saved the day? The stockpile of chewy banana oat bars I had stashed in my top draw at work.
This is a recipe my beautiful mum has been making since I was a little tacker. They are simple, healthy and really satisfying.
Luckily this she-devil didn’t leave any room for me to contribute whatsoever to the conversation, so I could stealthily eat an entire bar.
The effect was incredible. My anger mellowed, my stomach relaxed, and I was all together far more chilled out.
Eh, the proof is in the pudding.
I came very close to that today. I was essentially harassed by a woman, oh, at least three times my age, on the pitfalls of my work’s Facebook use.
I am a media officer. I am 23. I am Generation Y. I constantly go over my mobile data plan. I know Facebook.
15 minutes into the call she was still telling me how many more ‘likers’ even she had than our Facebook page, and that Facebook was all about that instantaneous connectivity. And did you know, that if someone comments on your page you should always respond?
WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME?!
This saga all unfolded like two minutes before I was about to go the kitchen and hoover my lunch, so my tolerance for her incessant criticism was at an all time low.
Do you know what saved the day? The stockpile of chewy banana oat bars I had stashed in my top draw at work.
This is a recipe my beautiful mum has been making since I was a little tacker. They are simple, healthy and really satisfying.
Luckily this she-devil didn’t leave any room for me to contribute whatsoever to the conversation, so I could stealthily eat an entire bar.
The effect was incredible. My anger mellowed, my stomach relaxed, and I was all together far more chilled out.
Eh, the proof is in the pudding.
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