Stop eating the cherries! (freshly washed and crunchy)
Stop eating the almonds! (salted and roasted)
Stop eating the almonds! (salted and roasted)
But I cannot. I cannot stop. I grab them by the fistfulls and try to go slow-ly. But I cannot. I get the hunger, just like Catherine Deneuve did.
Those little berries, slut berries, offer themselves to me. They are cold and smooth and I spank them with my tongue. The initial burst of juice--intravenous juice. Slutberry crack.
And, Oh! The Almonds! They taste like fancy rooms in architecture magazines. The 1,000 square foot living room with the regal fireplace and proud hardwood floors. There is one thing on the coffee table, and it is not a napkin. It is so classy.
But it is hard for ME to be classy when I'm making deals with the cupboard and the fridge (Don't let me in for an hour, Okay?) And then the belly-belly remorse. Whyyyyy?
I delight in problems like this. It's pretty gross when you think about it. Other people are dying and dead under rubble and water and mud and sand, and here I am worried about eating too much. I live in fear of being bourgeois. I think I already am. Damn.
This morning I saw a vomited-up rat. His little nose was identifiable. The vomit was richly yellow. Why can't I hide in my almond and cherry world?
Those little berries, slut berries, offer themselves to me. They are cold and smooth and I spank them with my tongue. The initial burst of juice--intravenous juice. Slutberry crack.
And, Oh! The Almonds! They taste like fancy rooms in architecture magazines. The 1,000 square foot living room with the regal fireplace and proud hardwood floors. There is one thing on the coffee table, and it is not a napkin. It is so classy.
But it is hard for ME to be classy when I'm making deals with the cupboard and the fridge (Don't let me in for an hour, Okay?) And then the belly-belly remorse. Whyyyyy?
I delight in problems like this. It's pretty gross when you think about it. Other people are dying and dead under rubble and water and mud and sand, and here I am worried about eating too much. I live in fear of being bourgeois. I think I already am. Damn.
This morning I saw a vomited-up rat. His little nose was identifiable. The vomit was richly yellow. Why can't I hide in my almond and cherry world?
2 comments:
I assume the rat was the cat's fault. Gross.
Waffles are my bane. There is a box of fluffy belgian waffles in the freezer. I think they're staring at me. It's creeping me out.
i enjoyed reading this immensely! What a completely appropriate description of almonds:-)
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