Not Picky Just Staying Alive

My entire family swore I was an impossible little princess.

According to them, the sourdough was always rock hard, the greens were unbearable, and meat was entirely off-limits.

My dad would slam his hand against the kitchen table until the silverware rattled. "Keep this up, and you’ll starve yourself into an early grave!"

My mom was even more ruthless. She shipped me straight off to a rural working-farm reality show.

The producers had the script mapped out before the cameras even started rolling: "Spoiled suburban brat throws tantrums over farm-fresh dinners, weeps until her parents come…