When you waddle up to the register with your ranch dressing-salad volcano, I'm already dreading the impending outrage. Great work, morsel hunter... you've skimped on the feather-light romaine, spinach and greens in favor of the leaden boiled eggs, cottage cheese, peanuts, beans, cheddar, parmesan cheese and enough dressing to entomb that shit. You gasp and frown when your good nutritional intentions net you a $12.67 bill, but please explain how we're supposed to charge for that trough of slop. You shake your head in disbelief, and I can tell you're going back to the mac n' cheese with a pizza chaser routine tomorrow. You know, the same thing a kid would eat without supervision or self control? At least know you're not alone in America, lady...