I assume that at this point most everybody is well acquainted with the concept of FOMO, or Fear Of Missing Out. With the advent of social media, it seems that we are invited to view the fun-filled escapades of our exes and friends, and be struck by the incessant and insistent feeling that while we sit at home, others are living their lives to the fullest.
Similarly, I regularly experience a pang of what I like to call Fear Of Missing Food, (or the super catchy, roll-off-the-tongue acronym FOMF) when I see delicious egg sandwiches on my Instagram feed.
I suffered a major blow about a week ago, when my family announced that they had just gotten reservations at Noma, routinely named the world’s best restaurant, located in Copenhagen, Denmark. We have been trying to get reservations there for the better part of three years, since my sister moved to Copenhagen. The kicker? The reservation was immovable, and it would fall a mere three days before I arrived to celebrate the holidays with them. Those bastards.
After recovering from the shock of it all, I had but one request: No pictures. And don’t tell me about it either. I refuse to hear even a whisper about the whimsical mind-blowing treats that they consumed in my absence. For all intents and purposes, it will be like it never even happened.
I suppose that in the spirit of giving I should have wished them well, and told them to enjoy. “Eat a Sea Urchin for me!” I should have said. “Relish in this once in a lifetime experience, I’m so happy for you!” But FOMF isn’t rational, kind, or well-meaning. It is green-eyed and petty.
This holiday season, for the sake of your loved ones, keep your food to yourselves! Because if I see one more picture of slice of pie that I can’t eat, I’m going to lose it.
Featured photo courtesy of cyclonebill.