Have Your Cake and Post It, Too

“WAIT!” I yelled as everyone started to dive into their entrees. “Don’t eat yet!”

We were at the kind of fancy restaurant where the food isn’t just served, it’s strategically arranged on the plate and balanced precariously in a tower like a game of Jenga.

My husband stopped with his fork in mid-air and stared.

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“Why?” he asked. “Is there something wrong with the food?”

My daughter rolled her eyes. “No. Mom just has to take a picture of it so she can post it on Instagram.”

It was true. I had become one of those people who couldn’t just live my life. I had to document it and post it online so other people could like it, share it, and comment on it.

“It just looks so pretty,” I said sheepishly. “I want to show other people how yummy it looks!”

“Why? asked my husband. “So they can lick their screen?”

I glared at him, although I kind of got his point. I wasn’t sure when I had gone from someone who just ate food to someone who set it up like a professional food photographer and then made everyone at the table wait while their food got cold so I could take the perfect drool-worthy picture. Then I had to decide whether or not it was better suited for Pinterest or Instagram.  And then wonder if I should also share it on Twitter and Facebook? With the right lighting, I knew could get 50 likes on a chocolate lava cake. And that meant, of course, that I was either really popular, or at the very least, my dessert was.

The big question, though, was whether anyone out there actually cared about what I was eating? I didn’t routinely call up my friends and tell them everything I was having for dinner every night. So why would I post about it on social media? Was it pretty? Yes. But was someone going to think better of me because I had my french fries stacked over my teriyaki steak over a bed of wilted baby greens. I didn’t think so.

Still, I felt obliged to take a picture of it. I adjusted the plate and was setting up my shot when suddenly my son reached over, grabbed a fry, and somehow ended up knocking the whole tower of food over until it fell in an unappetizing heap on the plate.

We all stared silently at my plate. It was no longer a thing of exquisite culinary beauty. Now it was merely a flat pile of formerly glamourous food.

I sighed. My photo op was kaput.

“What am I going to do now?” I asked my family dejectedly.

My husband handed me a fork.

“You could eat it.”

I preferred to eat my food and be present with the people at the table, not the people on the internet. I decided that I would save my posts for those times when it doesn’t conflict with my real life relationships.

Unless, of course, it makes a really, really good picture.

Become a fan of Lost in Suburbia on Facebook at facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage and on twitter at twitter.com/tracybeckerman.

The opinions expressed herein are the writer's alone, and do not reflect the opinions of TAPinto.net or anyone who works for TAPinto.net. TAPinto.net is not responsible for the accuracy of any of the information supplied by the writer.

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