It’s hard for me to trust people who don’t like food. Nancy lived for the People’s Revolution, eating only to keep her bone-thin body going. Everything about her translated down into Maoist truths, and apparently my appetites were corrupt. Fiercely egalitarian, she completed exactly her portion of the household tasks; then she checked that we did the same.
365/radical elements 
I’m very intrigued: whose attic were these food-hating Commies hiding in? I say lob some fiery egg rolls through the dormer to smoke ’em out. (And I’m like you, I don’t trust people who don’t like food (or animals).)
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The attic was in a group house mostly filled with grad students from American University and assorted yuppies in Washington, DC. Early 1980s. Salvador was from El Salvador. We also had Gladson from Malawi, Julia from the UK, and then Nancy, after Salvador left in a huff. It seems I made him feel unwelcome!
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People who don’t like food, and make others feel as if they are horrible hedonists addicted to the stuff. Double grrrr.
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Never trust anyone who doesn’t like food. And if Nancy actually checked to make sure everyone was doing their equal share, she was actually doing more work, wasn’t she? Joke’s on her.
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I don’t trust them either, though I wish I was one of them.
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Oh good. I used to be a person who didn’t like food, but now I like food. A lot.
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