Culinary drama in a one act.
Me: (Opening refrigerator and staring) Hmmmm. What do I want for dinner?
Stomach: Not much to choose from, is there? No box this week?
Me: No, we're taking this week off from our culinary adventures.
Me: (Reaching for a box in the freezer)
Taste Bud #1: Oh, please, don't tell me you're even thinking about those frozen corn dogs....
Me: But we've always liked corn dogs.
Taste Bud #1: Yeah, but that was before you actually learned to cook.
Taste Bud #2: How can you feed us elote and pork tenderloin with au jus on Monday, and now expect us to eat a frozen hot dog wrapped in grease-soaked fried bread?
Taste Bud #1: Ooh, ooh, what about that orzo and chirozo we had a couple weeks back? Could we have that? Please?
Taste Bud #2: Yeah, man, that was da bomb!
Me: Please. Nobody says "da bomb" anymore.
Hands: Look, I don't care what you eat, but I'd appreciate a break from all that damned chopping. Since you started cooking, our carpel tunnel is acting up. And I permanently stink of garlic now. Can’t seem to get rid of the smell no matter how much I wash.
Feet: Hey, Hands, you're not the only one suffering here! You know how long it takes her to cook anything? I'm the one all of you are standing on!
Hands: All you have to do, Feet, is stand there. I'm on the front lines of battle. I’m the one that has to be quick and graceful and dexterous. I've been burned, sliced and scraped... Do you have any concept of the pain a grater an inflict? It's only a matter of time before one of our fingers gets the ax--
Pinkie: It's gonna be me, isn't it? Because I'm the littlest, right? The runt always gets picked on--
Index: Shut up, Pinkie, you whiner. If anybody is in danger, it's me. I still got that scar from where she cut a 1/2" sliver off my top and that was just trying to get the new knife out of the packaging.
Pinkie: I have no sympathy for you, Indie. Ever since we got diagnosed with the sugar diabetes, I’ve gotten stabbed nearly every day. I don't see you volunteering to take a stick for the team.
Right Boob: I don't wanna hear it from any of you. I've got third degree burns from that boiling water that splashed on me because Hands couldn't hold onto a damned ear of corn.
Hands: Sorry about that. It was slippery.
Right Boob: Whatever.
Brain: This isn't getting us any closer to dinner, folks. Could we please focus here?
Heart: A corn dog really isn't a great choice. Health-wise, hot dogs are basically a coronary on a stick.
Brain: Yeah. Have you seen the sodium and fat content on a hot dog?
Budget: But corn dogs are something we have. A whole box full. They will have to be eaten at some point.
Taste Bud #1: Can't we please have some more of those brown sugar and pecan-crusted pork medallions?
Taste Bud #2: Yeah! Yeah! (jumping up and down) We want pork medallions!
Me: We don't have any pork medallions or pecans, so just shut up and decide on something we do have.
Taste Bud #2: (sighing) What else is there?
Me: Frozen pot pie?
Taste Buds in unison: Bleh....
Me: Frozen lasagna?
Taste Buds in unison: No.. not feeling it. What else?
Taste Bud #1: It’s all yucky and frozen. Don’t you have anything fresh?
Me: Tuna fish sandwich?
Taste Bud #2: Seriously?
Brain: You have no bread. You used the last two slices yesterday.
Heart: (disapprovingly) Yes. With enough of that fancy French butter to put all of us in a coma.
Taste Bud #1: Oh, but that butter was marvelous!
Taste Buds #3 - #1,043: (swooning) yes, yes, please.... more butter!
Brain: There's nothing to put it on.
Heart: And don't any of you dare suggest eating it with a spoon.
Taste Bud #6: I don’t see the problem. Butter is food.
Taste Bud #1: There's nothing to eat here. Let's go to Sonic!
Back/Shoulders/Leg Cooperative: NO! We are not getting dressed and going out into that traffic and heat again!
Right Boob: Leftie and I agree. We're not going back into that bra.
Taste Bud #2: Okay, let's order pizza!
Budget: We do have a free reward pizza from Domino's.
Taste Bud #5: The crust was really limp last time. Could we try Papa John's?
Brain: NO! NEVER PAPA JOHN'S!
Conscience: Papa John is a prick. And a Republican. We eat Papa John’s over our dead body.
Taste Bud #797: (in a small, apologetic voice) I kinda would rather have the corn dogs.
Taste Bud #945: Me too.
Taste Bud #14: Corn dogs don’t sound so bad.
Taste Bud #1: Oh, for Pete's sake.
Diabetes: Come on, ya’ll. I’m feeling dizzy.
Brain: Oh, here we go again with “I don’t feel so good...”
Diabetes: I can’t help it. I have a condition.
Me: Corn dogs it is.
Taste Buds: (Breaking out in bickering and whining)
Me: Shut up. I'll give you ice cream later if you just shut up and eat the damned corn dogs.
Taste Buds: Deal.
I LOVE THE WEB
Because nobody can interrupt me; they can only de-friend me.