The Onion

For the past 4 weeks Red and I have lived on Ramen and Lipton noodles. Bruises have been appearing on my legs more and more easily as I slowly become anemic. I spend my days sitting on a papasan chair, thinking of what real food tastes like; the past two nights I've had dreams about fast food (and James Spader, but that's to be expected). And then I go to work at an Italian restaurant where all I can do is lust after the Chicken Tilapia as it passes me on its way to an eager customer.

But.

There is hope. Oh, yes. The onion rings in the restaurant on the other side of the building. Everyday I wait for those few precious seconds that I can steal away into the kitchen and grab a greasy, fattening, steaming piece of fried heaven. I get lost in the unfathomable infinities of those divine circles of goodness. Let me take a second to talk about just how insanely amazing these particular onion rings are. I'll start by stating that they are the biggest fucking onions on the face of the planet. And the batter. Oooohhhh, the batter. It must have been created by some otherworldly power; they end up being so crunchy when they come out of that deep fryer. Youd think that would make them dry, wouldn't you? But they aren't, my friend! Once the outer layer of crispy goodness is stipped away, a core of lush, moist, and delicate onion is left for feasting. Oh, glorious rapture. I live for those few seconds of complete bliss, for the sound of the crunch in my mouth, the smell, the taste that makes my tongue dance with joy. Orgasm. No. Mouthgasm.

And then I return to the restaurant where I again think of offering a customer sexual favors in return for just a bite of their lasagna.