this thing called eating

you know that moment when there is one food stuff left at a table full of people: the air is tense, there are hesitant negotiations, there are polite gestures and overall awkward: "oh, but you were so hungry," and "but this your favorite dish," or "but you're so fat obviously you need the last bite," or my personal favorite, "take it you greedy son of a bitch!" ANYWAY. I missed it today.

There we sat. 3 Nepali women and me. I was unfortunately seated next to Fatty McChew Really Fucking Loud Cause I'm a Piece of Shit Slob (her name is long, but not too hard to remember) and there we were confronted with the last morsel of airy puffed up dough for a split second. because in Nepal, the conversation above just doesn't exist.

I have noticed it before. One piece left: every man for himself. There is this dialogue that's happening today that has to do with selfishness in Nepal- you gotta give head to get ahead, no that's not the epitaph I'm groping for. It's something about All For One And One for Himself! Yea, sure. And it doesn't stop at politics, it makes its way to the lunch table.

She swooped in with her greasy fingers and threw the ball in her mouth with little morsels dotting her lower lip and shiny smears of oil lining her tiny lips. All the while suckling on each little bite, I could HEAR the saliva swishing in her little anus of a mouth. I gagged. And I found myself doing something ridiculous: I was grabbing at the rest of the food as fast as I could to usurp her hands just so I wouldn't have to hear it any longer. It was like the tell tale heart, only it was the tell tale tongue.

So anyway, lunch was good today.