Dear Internet, I am Crazy! Love, kT

I’ve written here in the past, briefly, about how hormones make me absolutely batshit insane, in my Nuva Ring=Death diatribe.

Well, last night Robbo and I had just finished eating dinner and were watching Drumline starring Nick Cannon on cable (don’t you dare judge me, you’ve probably seen it too) when we saw a commercial for Stouffer’s new flatbread pizzas. The premise of the ad was that, just because you’re eating alone, doesn’t mean you have to eat badly. It showed all these attractive, single people coming home and opening the freezer and smiling at their Stouffer’s flatbreads, sitting on the couch in front of the television enjoying their Stouffer’s flatbreads. All by themselves.

I started to cry.

Robbo looked at me with a combination of disbelief and amusement—as though he was thinking, “This should surprise me, but really, it just doesn’t anymore.”

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, “Look, they’re happy!”

“But they’re all alone!” I wailed.

“They don’t care!”

“But they’re all alone!”

“They have flatbreads for dinner!”

“But they have no one to eat dinner with!”

“But see, the ad is saying that it’s okay to not have anyone to eat dinner with.”

That’s when I really started to cry.
“EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE SOMEONE TO EAT DINNER WITH!”

This is coming from the girl who spent an hour watching CNN, indifferent to the deaths of human beings worldwide, but sobbed uncontrollably during a spot about the tainted pet food and resulting animal deaths. Un-con-trollably.

So what am I saying? Well, the following:
1) I personally believe that the Stouffer’s company is insensitive to the lonely and the depressed, and I am writing them an overly emotional email telling them so;
2) If you don’t have anyone to have dinner with, let me know and you can come over and eat dinner with Robbo and me. He’s a grilling machine; and
3) Hormones will mess your shit up.