Peanut Porridge
Oh, man.
The aroma wafted up to my nose, tingling my olfactory nerves. I closed my eyes, taking the smell in, inhaling it, imagining its starchiness in contact with my palate, shuddering in anticipation. I sighed, blissfully unaware of my surroundings. It was also pleasing to the eye - the huge bowl, steaming hot, with tender chopped spring onion leaves garnishing its top, sitting patiently on the table top, so inviting. So inviting.
It was so perfect, I just could not bear to touch it, to ruin it. I could barely look at it. But ironically, I just could not look away. Perfection in all its beauty.
I raised a tentative hand, held on to the spoon placed just beside the bowl. Dipped it in. I winced. Its perfect surface - disturbed. But I could not turn back now, not when it was so close, oh-so-close...
I brought the spoon to my mouth, lower lip quivering. I held my breath, squeezed my eyes shut and took a mouthful...
Hah. I was just kidding.
In actual fact, there was hardly a smell you could detect, besides the one from the longkang near the road. It was the tiniest bowl of porridge I had ever seen, and it was NOT steaming hot at all. Oh, far from it. It was barely WARM. The table was sticky, and the floor uneven so the table kept bouncing from my end to my dad's each time either he or I lifted our arms from the table edge. Like a see-saw.
And gosh, the teeny bowl of porridge! I could even count the number of peanuts in this so-called peanut porridge, I grumbled as i spooned myself with more (Okay, I was hungry).
I looked into my bowl.
Hey, there's even a burnt peanut!
Can't they even cook their peanut porridge right?
It was completely black and ugly-looking and it even has...
LEGS?
Hairy LEGS????!!!
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Upon further inspection, we (my parents and I) concluded that it was an INSECT.
An INSECT lying dead in MY porridge!
The audacity! Not to mention how disgusting and unhygienic that is. I mean, can't the INSECT find some other place to Rest In Peace, instead of MY porridge? Ugh.
My mum said, "Well, at least it wasn't a cockroach."
I stared at the "not-cockroach" insect and its six very hairy insect legs sticking out in the air, now that it had been unearthed from its starchy grave. By ME.
I refused to touch the porridge bowl or have it anywhere near me. Just...Ugh.
Needless to say, I am NOT going back to that..that...place again.
p/s: the owner was not-so apologetic, but he did not charge us for my parents' 2 bowls of insect-less porridge. Not much of a compensation, considering how utterly SHOCKED and DISGUSTED I was to see hairy leg-thingys just as I was about to put it in my mouth, if you ask me. *shudders*
The aroma wafted up to my nose, tingling my olfactory nerves. I closed my eyes, taking the smell in, inhaling it, imagining its starchiness in contact with my palate, shuddering in anticipation. I sighed, blissfully unaware of my surroundings. It was also pleasing to the eye - the huge bowl, steaming hot, with tender chopped spring onion leaves garnishing its top, sitting patiently on the table top, so inviting. So inviting.
It was so perfect, I just could not bear to touch it, to ruin it. I could barely look at it. But ironically, I just could not look away. Perfection in all its beauty.
I raised a tentative hand, held on to the spoon placed just beside the bowl. Dipped it in. I winced. Its perfect surface - disturbed. But I could not turn back now, not when it was so close, oh-so-close...
I brought the spoon to my mouth, lower lip quivering. I held my breath, squeezed my eyes shut and took a mouthful...
Hah. I was just kidding.
In actual fact, there was hardly a smell you could detect, besides the one from the longkang near the road. It was the tiniest bowl of porridge I had ever seen, and it was NOT steaming hot at all. Oh, far from it. It was barely WARM. The table was sticky, and the floor uneven so the table kept bouncing from my end to my dad's each time either he or I lifted our arms from the table edge. Like a see-saw.
And gosh, the teeny bowl of porridge! I could even count the number of peanuts in this so-called peanut porridge, I grumbled as i spooned myself with more (Okay, I was hungry).
I looked into my bowl.
Hey, there's even a burnt peanut!
Can't they even cook their peanut porridge right?
It was completely black and ugly-looking and it even has...
LEGS?
Hairy LEGS????!!!
Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Upon further inspection, we (my parents and I) concluded that it was an INSECT.
An INSECT lying dead in MY porridge!
The audacity! Not to mention how disgusting and unhygienic that is. I mean, can't the INSECT find some other place to Rest In Peace, instead of MY porridge? Ugh.
My mum said, "Well, at least it wasn't a cockroach."
I stared at the "not-cockroach" insect and its six very hairy insect legs sticking out in the air, now that it had been unearthed from its starchy grave. By ME.
I refused to touch the porridge bowl or have it anywhere near me. Just...Ugh.
Needless to say, I am NOT going back to that..that...place again.
p/s: the owner was not-so apologetic, but he did not charge us for my parents' 2 bowls of insect-less porridge. Not much of a compensation, considering how utterly SHOCKED and DISGUSTED I was to see hairy leg-thingys just as I was about to put it in my mouth, if you ask me. *shudders*
Comments
hmm... you seem to fictionalize all the event in your life. No story ideas??
But i like what you are doing. maybe i will try it too...
Remain dead?? Would they rise up again??!
>>Arnan
Haha just trying a new style of writing..:P
>>Aravin
Yeah, my mum, the funny person. It's NOT Timothy's insects. And all those I killed before..I had no choice! It was a project! I did it in the name of SCIENCE!
*sobs* not my fault.......