Microwaved Swedish meatballs sat before him, a former favorite, getting cold, congealing in their Scandinavian puddle. The sitter, she wouldn't even let him reheat them.
"No fun until you finish your meal."
Finishing the meal is no fun, he thought. He looked at the noodles. Were they turning grey? My lord, the sauce was grey. Had it always been grey?
None of this was making any sense to him. He used to like them so much! What was it that was driving him away so suddenly? That turned bite after bite into prodding after prodding? It happened in the middle of the meal, as well, which his mind could not figure. How halfway through something you loved so much, you could just stop loving it. And when all you wanted to do was eat.
None of this was making any sense to him. He used to like them so much! What was it that was driving him away so suddenly? That turned bite after bite into prodding after prodding? It happened in the middle of the meal, as well, which his mind could not figure. How halfway through something you loved so much, you could just stop loving it. And when all you wanted to do was eat.
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