I almost posted a photo of my lunch on social media today.

This isn’t something I do often, but I have been known to do it. Usually, my photos aren’t those heavily-filtered food porn snaps I sometimes find myself scrolling through.

No, mine are nitty gritty no frills food photos. They’re mugs of gravy. They’re hot chip sandwiches. They’re fried kangaroo fillets posted on the same day a viral story went around about a sad kangaroo. So no, they aren’t pretty. They’re like the food equivalent to paparazzi photos of 2007 celebrities leaving the gym.

Rather than applying filters, I usually take great care in making them look as naturally shit as possible. I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying too hard with my Instagram posts, despite how much overthinking goes into each angle and the several drafts I do of captions before hitting “share”. But because I’m not posting a selfie, I’m like, totes morally superior.

I mean, even though I’m trying to win everybody’s affection and validate my existence through painstakingly constructed Insty posts that’s so different from posting a booty shot, aye.

But all jokes aside, I’m really trying to work on toning down my self-righteous dial on the Insty front, and I think I’ve come a long way. I posted a selfie from when I was in Darwin. I cropped my back end out of another photo from the same trip so my croc schnitty belly seemed less pronounced. Heck, I’ve even posted a photo alluding to the fact that I exercise.

So when I had a cracker of a lunch, I’m surprised I didn’t share it with the rest of the digital world. The problem was, that it would have been too long of a caption. Because I’m bloody terrible at cutting a long story short and also don’t want to leave out a single detail. So instead of simply posting a quick photo of my lunch with a snappy caption, I decided to write an in-depth account of what I ingested today on my blog. Yep, I’m too sanctimonious to post glamour shots on my Instagram, but I’m self-obsessed enough to think that people will actually care about and read my blog. Go figure.

So here it is, my lunch story that I just HAD to share with someone:

I had a double banger of a lunch today.

After making a stir-fry for two for one (meaning a stir-fry that that would be enough to feed two people in a normal household, but is served in a giant bowl in front of a singular greedy guts in a household with no judgmental, prying eyes), I ended up eating about three quarters of it.

What I had leftover was sustainable enough to be put in a container, but not enough to make up for an actual lunch – particularly for someone who eats family-sized portions out of large mixing bowls like a barnyard animal at a feeding trough.

So I sat it in the fridge, thinking it would make for a decent snack through the week.

But then yesterday I luxed out and bought myself a healthy wank fest of a lunch – grilled salmon, brown rice and a shitload of tabouleh. It’s the kind of lunch I wake up excited about. I bloody LOVE this fishy box of parsley and fibre and dreams.

But dreams don’t come cheap. Apparently, they cost $18. Now, $18 might not sound all that expensive a dream for someone who dreams of flying to Concord USA to have an emotional breakdown in front of the Little Women house (one day…), but if your dream is promoting regular bowel movements, that’s pricey.

So as I sat there, tucking into my smug lunch, I began adding up how many meals I could get out of $18 had I spent that money at a grocery store. And when you take into account the fact that I sometimes consider sweated onions with chopped up bacon a meal, I figured I could make that money go much further. So I stopped myself halfway through and put the now soggy box, sodden with salad dressing and false hope, in the fridge for another lunch.

Then today something magical happened.

The stars aligned, and I essentially had two lunches. I packed my gingery, garlic mess of a stir-fry and turned up to work remembering that a wanker salad was waiting for me in the staff fridge.

And let me tell you, that puts a certain spring in your step.

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Yep. That’s my awesome lunch story I just couldn’t not share with you people. I opted to tell the internet about my lunch rather than watch another episode of The Handmaid’s Tale. I spent at least 30 minutes writing that. Seriously. This is my life.