I have two slices of cheese in my hand. I had chopped 6 thick chunks because I felt like it, overestimating my own desire to consume them.
Damn new knives that slide through marble blocks like a katana against freaking bamboo. Curse the satisfaction!
I'm too lazy to put them back in the fridge. That's one reason they're still on my left palm, but the other infuriates me. It's a challenge now of whether I can shove these two slices into my mouth and consume them.
Challenge accepted, gods!
I should not have sniffed them first. I can smell how long they've been sitting on my skin. Half an hour is not a pleasant smell on cheese.
I take a gulp of orange juice, making sure to ration the half empty glass through this ordeal. I'm going to need to gargle after this. Braving the first bite is like chewing on molten garbage. Quickly swallowing, I chase it with a mouthful of OJ but it won't go down fast enough.
It takes a strength in me I'm not sure I like to peel the warm cheese off my life lines and dangle it over my lips. It had left greasy prints behind on my palm and before I can acknowledge my nauseousness, that chunk goes down my throat with the ease of a live goldfish down my esophagus. I drown it in the last of my orange juice and wipe my hand with this morning's towel heaped on the foot of my bed.
Hah, I win.
