Oh boy. Oh, wow. OK. Just keep chewing. Eventually, enough saliva will collect in your mouth that the food will just dribble down your throat and you won’t have to actually swallow the horrific mess that Jill’s mother calls meatloaf. They’re smiling at you – you’re expected to swallow and say something about how delicious it is. I…can’t…the dog jumped on the table. Good, everyone’s looking at him. Maybe the dog is the answer – if I leaned over and opened my mouth, would he eat the masticated “meatloaf” before it hit the floor with that terrible wet slap sound? Dubious – the dog looks like he’s pushing 15 and has some terrifying cataracts. They’re looking over here again. Just shove it into the left side of your cheek, you can do it…no, I can’t. I can taste the raw eggs and there’s gristle lodged in my teeth. Her mother looks like a regular woman, but she must secretly sell human livers to have access to meat of this poor a quality. Jill seems like a nice girl, but I’m going to have to spit this in my napkin, stand up, and leave. Years from now when I’m still alone I’ll probably write in my journal, why couldn’t you just have swallowed the meatloaf? Jill loved you, you loved her, you would have had beautiful babies and a happy life. But then I will have a visceral memory of the alarming texture of this meat and know, unequivocally, that I made the right decision in the moment.
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- The Huntington Ladies’ Book Club – February Meeting
- Pickle the Cheetah
- Karen the Personal Trainer
- Morton the Worm at the Usury Office
- My 5 Favorite Musicals and Why, By Carla Cioca:
- Mumu the Irrelevant Mime
- Tiny Tim – Post Revisted
- Ten Prior Moments that led Jenna to this Point:
- The O. Henry Affair
- Ben’s Night Out