In my freshman art studio class, we had to display our final projects on the wall during our last day of class. I quietly walked into the classroom, hung my painting with the others and walked out of the classroom. I didn't stick around for the final class or the critique. I didn't want anyone to know the ownership of my horrendous cluster of an attempt at Pointillism. I imagined the class pointing and laughing at my piece. They probably set it on fire while the instructor poured gas on it.
I'm going to the do the same for our potluck Thanksgiving dinner (for fat americans and their friends). I am going to put my dish down and walk away hastily without making eye contact with anyone. When anyone asks what I contributed, I will start to answer then pretend to swat a mosquito off my leg (foolproof, this is Africa). After the diversion, I will quickly change the subject to the increased annoyance of mosquitoes during rainy season.
I've done lots of things that I'm not proud of....most of which involve food. If you think I'm exaggerating, you should see me chopping an onion. Tears, confusion, anger. I recently learned that a bread knife is a real thing. I'm not ashamed. I don't want anything to do with cooking. Or the kitchen. I only go there if I must walk through it to get to other rooms in the house.
