Sometimes I Make Soup And It Looks Like Baby Poop
I took the day off work. What do I look like on my days off, you ask? Mad. Blurry. Pink lipped. My eyes even turn into octagons, the kind of octagons that pierce your soul if you stare at them for too long.
And what does any normal boy do on his day off? (“Get into trouble!” screams the distant, troubled reading public in unison.) NO. Normal boys make curried lentil soup.
Thar she is: the soup that looks all baby poop. Delicious, when you’re not thinking about that. That. How can you not think about that. I look at the soup and my mind goes to that time my little niece, now only a handful of months old, had what was appropriately referred to as a “blowout.” I know what else you’re thinking, and I’m just going to say NO, I don’t not live in a crack den. Jordan decorates with Lady of Guadelupe candles and wooden camels, okay? Okay.
Don’t these carrots look like The Suck? If I were the grocery store that sold these to me I’d be shamed to the point that I’d bow out of the business. I DON’T CARE IF IT’S DECEMBER IN MINNESOTA.
A better view of the table. Those aren’t bars on our windows. They’re part of the Islamic-Renaissance styling of the manor, okay? It’s fancy, alright? Okay.
FACT: never has a camera been able to capture Shlomo’s eyes. Never. FACT: cats don’t care if the chair is set up. They just don’t. They’re going to sit there anyway. They might even pee on it a little to claim it as their own.
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