Eat Your Breakfast, Ashlee Simpson.

Eat your breakfast, Ashlee Simpson.

Put that food in your mouth. You are sitting across from me at a little Palm Springs restaurant called the Purple Palm. It is within a somewhat fancy hotel called the Colony Palms. It is a beautiful, desert oasis. You can eat breakfast there.

Why aren’t you eating your breakfast though, Ashlee Simpson? You have an entire table full of food. There are six plates—one, two, three, four, five, six—spread for three people. I am there with a few people for a birthday brunch because I am in town for my birthday. I don’t know what you are in town for, Ashlee Simpson, but you are.

You are across from me, Ashlee Simpson, sitting over the shoulder of a friend, distracting with the exaggerated cat eyed sunglasses whose left ear keeps poking over the crown of my friend’s head. You are there with your husband—Evan Ross, of Diana Ross’ fame—and your daughter who you made with Evan Ross, the famously named Jagger Snow Ross. You have plates and plates and plates of food. A pair of pregnant women next to you chatted over baby Jagger Snow Ross, who sat at the end of the table in a one-piece photographic print swimsuit. You all seemed so tired.

We sat as restaurant ships passing in parallel without actually encountering each other. But you weren’t eating your breakfast, Ashlee Simpson. Why weren’t you eating your breakfast? Some forks were drawn, baby Jagger Snow Ross was handled, some leaning happened from the pregnant women, and your husband—Evan Ross—kept getting up to tend to another child playing with a Leap Frog in the pool area. Evan Ross was also wearing an Adidas t-shirt and those loungy pants made out of thermal material that suggest you are a baby that had a trouser accident. It was also 90º: why, Ashlee Simpson, was your husband—Evan Ross—dressed so? You were more sensibly outfitted, Ashlee Simpson, in a floral print not-quite-a-caftan. You were bundled in billowy stuff, light yet full. I couldn’t help but notice that you were in a constant mutter to your daughter, Jagger Snow Ross, that happened with or without the baby. One of the plates was piled with sliced avocado and was frequently poked at.

Me and my friends ordered our food. You, Ashlee Simpson, and your husband, Evan Ross, continued flying around: Evan Ross would stand, go to the pool, and return while Ashlee Simpson talked to herself and tended to the child and touched food but did not eat. You two would take turns. The food was left on the table. Napkins went on and off plates. Utensils went around faces but didn’t seem to make contact with the mouth. Why, Ashlee Simpson?

Adding to the timelessness of your meal, you—Ashlee Simpson—and your family left. Meals are just a social construct to you, I suppose. But why didn’t you eat your breakfast, Ashlee Simpson?

In the thirty minutes I had with you, I was so struck by your inability to eat but your ability to order. The plates and plates and plates were on your table when I sat and, for thirty minutes, they remained. They were eventually piled by a waiter and taken away. You, Ashlee Simpson, didn’t even get a box of treats to go. Why didn’t you eat your breakfast, Ashlee Simpson?

I almost grabbed one of your plates, I did, thinking about refashioning the food into something. It’s not like you don’t know this since film sets are notorious for overstocking and underserving food that ultimately ends up in the garbage while concerts are a zones for food stuffs to go uneaten. You are an actress and musician in two families of actresses and musicians and I was wondering why you didn’t know this. Are you the type of flip celebrity act that suggests a disconnection with the world and where things come from by leaving plates full? Did you not see the problem with your uneaten breakfast bounty, Ashlee Simpson? Are you the type who believes that, when the end of the world comes at the hands of climate change, you—Ashlee Simpson—and your husband—Evan Ross—and child—Jagger Snow Ross—that believes you will just be able to afford your own private Idahos away as the rest of us non-rich and non-celebrity persons sink into the new reality that is a water world? Is that what you think, Ashlee Simpson?

I wonder that, Ashlee Simpson. I’ve been wondering this for days. I want to know: why did you do that, Ashlee Simpson? Why the food waste? Please be better at this and make a concerted effort: eat your breakfast, Ashlee Simpson.

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