by Lisa

Three great cups of coffee, two pretty good sticks of string cheese, and one awful chocolate yogurt, the whipped kind.  That’s what I’ve eaten today.  Everything sounds gross.

My last meal was gross, and it’s put me off my food.  If someone nice was to hand me a plate of anything, I’d eat it and feel better, but seven-year-olds are dangerously experimental in the kitchen, I’ve observed.  The gross-food spell would be broken with a plate full of love.  Instead, I wait.  I’ll think about what’s in the cupboard and the fridge, and food will go into my face as a matter of necessity.  Hunger makes me very, very cranky and confused, which makes cooking very, very difficult.  I’m hungry and angry.

Adding to my difficulty is the WD-40 smell on my hands.  The pencil sharpener works for the first time since it was thrown out—third grade, and I stole it from the trash after a new one was installed—so that’s a happy thing.  Turns out, someone just tried to sharpen a pencil with those tiny plastic nibs for lead, and the janitor didn’t bother to take it apart to check things out before he tossed it.  This broken thing has been with me since I was eight.  I’ve been a gleaner my whole life, and fortunately for that pencil sharpener,  a fixer of unwanted things.  However, anything I think of eating tastes like WD-40 in my mind now.  Humph.

The daughter ate well, shrimp lo mein, her favorite food of the moment.  Lo mein sounds so gross, like WD-40-flavored noodles.

Now, I’ll go stare at the contents of the fridge again and pray for milk chocolate to appear.