Slavery of Choice

After all, it's only your face.

Every day, we are faced with choices. What to have for breakfast, what to wear to work, where to go for dinner, whether to just kill the lizard that’s been bugging you and your hamsters in your apartment for the last 5 days, and has just escaped from sitting comfortably in your sofa. Freedom of choice. Every day.

The funny thing about choices is that they become mistakes so easily. And then you start to think to yourself, why did I go and do that instead of this?

The even funnier thing is, sometimes, you get blindsided too. There are choices you make that can slap you in the back of the head without you even realising it can do that. Eating crabs, for example. Innocently thinking that your pregnant wife does not need help reading her father-in-law’s handwriting while compiling the wedding list and going off to eat cold flower crabs can earn you a cold shoulder for the rest of the night and the bulk of the next day.

I am convinced this is a very annoying genetic trait passed down from man to man, ever since Adam left Eve in the cold and went frolicking with the deer, leaving her to eat apples with snakes. We can be damn clueless when it comes right down to making choices that consider the sensitivities of those around us. Though most of the time we do all right, as careful we are at the best of times, we still manage to get in trouble in the not-so-best of times.

In this instance, my downfall is food. Every time I get even the slightest bit hungry, my brain starts this chemical reaction that will lock me in to the nearest available edible item, like a moth to a flame, only less fatal (well, depending on the situation). I am half-bulimic; I love to eat, but forget to retch.

Damn flower crab.

When choices become mistakes often enough, Pepsi is the last thing on your mind. You become enslaved by your choice, and then in standard once-bitten-twice-shy fashion, you are afraid of making any other choices that come your way. And the kicker is, life is all about choice. Every single turn you make, there is a choice to be made; slavery of choice.

Even writing about this might have been a wrong choice.

Damn flower crab.

Apologies may not be very effective at this point, but I would like to say sorry on behalf of the damn flower crab – and myself – for making the choices I made that led to my writing a totally incoherent, meaningless post.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *