I realized the other day that I was completely happy when out of the blue I started thinking about popcorn. It’s one of those foods I think you can only really think about when you are happy.
It’s so...well... poppy and happy.
Its whole essence is ecstatic, isn’t it?
You can’t say that about soup or mashed potatoes or even cauliflower, which if you think about it is just aching to be a big popcorn kernel.
I love everything about popcorn: the feel of it between the fingers, the saltiness that hits the tongue, the way it tumbles into the mouth and even then, does not settle down but instead tumbles around, finding its way between our molars.
Maybe it’s the conditions under which we eat popcorn. Most of the time, we save popcorn for celebrations, for times when we want to be with friends, or even by ourselves in the dark of the theater.
Popcorn takes on its predestined shape when exposed to heat. So do many people, don’t you think?
Fluffiness in a bowl.
Popcorn is what happiness looks like to me. Laughing with friends, treading lightly over the asphalt with Kia by my side, walking up to Brian and putting my arms around his waist and feeling him relax into me.
It’s all popcorn, baby.
Make mine a large.