Matt March 2nd, 2008

The scene: Me, in my pajamas, hair doing an impression of David Lynch, in the kitchen searching for something that I could possibly pass off as having an iota of nutritional content; my niece sits on her leg in the living room recliner, writing (I imagine) “My fat-ass uncle looks like an ugly(er) Jack Black” in a notebook she jealously guards.

Me: Hmm

The Niece (TN): ….

Me: Er… {Looks into freezer hopefully, visibly shudders when met with ice cream and frozen fruit.}

TN: …. *cough*

Me: Um… {Briefly searching the fridge, moves on to the cupboards.}

TN: ….sigh….

ME: Okay, you can have a ham sandwich, a slice of pizza, some liverwürst {Pause to enjoy the look of horror and revulsion crossing TN’s face.}, some cheese and crackers or some nachos.

TN: Nachos!

ME: Of course. {Goes about gathering the ingredients, searches the cupboards for some salsa and some “taco sauce.”}

ME: So, which do you want? {Holds up either bottle.}

TN: Yuck. Neither. I don’t like red salsa.

ME: …. {Struck dumb, aware of other salsas out there but unable to grasp the full-on horror that would be corn salsa nachos.} {Search about for an automatic pistol to shoot self, failing to find one, reluctantly keeps on living in the same world that TN exists.}

End scene.

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