* jalapeño
* garlic
Instead of olive and tomato and anchovy and whatever junk everyone else puts into these things.
I've got plenty of room in my stomach for more food, but no more room for another single bite of this oily sandwich.
Hang on.
*Eats another bite. Masticates. Swallows.* Nope. No more room. Nowadays I listen to my body and my body says no to this.
Wait a sec.
*Eats another bite. Masticates. Swallows.* See? I told you, no more room. Closed to business. I'll eat something else later because this is really oily and gross.
No more proof is needed. This is my determination, not some court of law.
*Eats another bite. Masticates. Swallows.* I'm convinced. That does it. No more of this crap. It's terrible. The dog I am watching is sniffing this whole thing inquisitively.
No. I must stop. Seriously. Simply stop.
*Eats another bite. Masticates. Swallows.* Yeah, that's it. No more of this. The dog is judging my reaction.
I am losing my touch. This focaccia is horrible. Really, it's like I do not know what I am doing. Fire the cook!
"That's me."
Then fire myself. That'll teach me.
No comments:
Post a Comment