You’ve seen me walking around with a new sense of swagger, talking with a newfound smugness. If you think that I feel that I’m superior to everyone else, you’re right. It’s because I’ve got that MPE (meal prep energy).

That’s right, I meal prepped. I made breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And now I’m going to talk about it and remind you not only that I meal prepped but also that you did not. I’ll look at all you Chipotle-buying plebeians with disdain, knowing you didn’t have the fortitude to batch cook a mediocre chicken recipe on Sunday afternoon. You went kayaking. I suffered, and I have now come out on top.

When you see me walking around, you might think that I got a raise, got a promotion, or got laid. But no. I put motherfucking carrots in tiny plastic bags. Five. For all of the days of the work week.

You might be getting married. You might have bought a new car. You might have won a Pulitzer. But there’s a whole bunch of Tupperware sitting in my fridge, bitches. Try topping that.

Yeah, I’m giving off all kinds of vibes. I’ve got a sway in my walk and the sort of confidence that makes me think I can do anything. And you know what? I probably can.

I mean, just picture it: There were a bunch of vegetables on my countertop. I chopped them all. Peppers, onions, carrots, broccoli — you name it. I chopped it. Then there was a mixing bowl full of a whole dozen eggs. A dozen eggs! Gaston from Beauty and the Beast eats five dozen eggs each every day, but I put one dozen eggs into a mixing bowl and then added chopped up vegetables and then put them in a muffin tin and now have fucking little egg muffins. Talk about brawny.

So, back to the main event: The eggs were in a bowl. I had chicken on the stove. I had a whole bunch of plastic containers and bags laid out across the countertop. Then, the chopped up vegetables made their way onto the stove in a separate pan. There was olive oil. There was a little bit of smoke. My smoke detector went off for a second and I stood on a chair and got rid of that smoke, like a goddamn superhero. But that was nothing compared to me putting the vegetables with the chicken inside of the containers, and then putting grapes, carrots, and crackers in plastic bags. Portion control. I have control. I’m in control. I have the world on lockdown.

And then I woke up on Monday morning. Prepared to conquer the world. I open the refrigerator doors and a choir of angels go “aaah!” as the light of the refrigerator shines upon my own demigod of a face. I pull out one of those little egg muffins, put it in the microwave, and eat it. Done. I return to the refrigerator. Another echo of “aah!” I take out the chicken and vegetables in the Tupperware, the bags of carrots, grapes, and crackers, and put them in one of those plastic grocery store bags that I saved because I knew I’d need them one day. And you know what? I was right. I was so fucking right.

So now we’re at work. I’ve put my lunch in the office fridge, alongside the lunches of all my other elite colleagues. That’s the beauty of being a Meal Prepper: there’s a place for you in the office fridge. I sit at my desk, humming a song — hell, no, I’m singing and rapping the entire score of Hamilton out loud! Anyone who comes within the confines of my cubicle can sense my MPE radiating out of my body! Fuck yeah! I did it! I MEAL PREPPED.

It’s 12 o’clock. Game time. The most important time of the day for a Meal Prepper. I shimmy on up to the office fridge, open the fridge, hear the angels, and grab my Tupperware. Chicken and vegetables, bitches, chicken and vegetables. I heat it up in the microwave for thirty seconds. Pete from accounting looks at me a little weirdly, probably because my food smells a little funky, but who cares, it’s mine, I did it, I meal prepped.

I sit down at my desk with my chicken, vegetables, and a fork — like a goddamn person of status. I pick up some chicken and put it in my mouth.

It’s fucking disgusting. I’m getting Chipotle.