lone bean.

vegetable danger.

i have a funny story to tell you, readers. i think it’s high time for some sillies, as i feel i’ve been too-often shlumping and moaning about in my daily dos and do-nots. the previous post feelings still thump through my head at a steady, religious beat, but here is something wonderful that happened:

to begin – guacamole is the dip of divinities. honestly, i could eat it by the bucket with only a finger for licking and a pillow for my fatty after-nap. i love guac. it’s still a pretty new food to me – grew up on mom’s delicious casseroles, meat and potatoes and breakfast for supper – i didn’t even know what an avocado was until i saw some sort of magazine advertisement for who knows what kind of ‘feminine intimacy product’, which compared our fancy uteri to the size and shape of a healthy avocado. strangely, i don’t remember the first time i tried guacamole…but if i may guess, it was probably the shitty goo-type they slop up at mexi’s in fredericton, where i managed to sneak in under-aged during my first year at st. thomas.

anyway. i love this stuff. and i was pretty excited to have the weekend off and completely to myself. plenty of cleaning and sorting and reading was enjoyed and boxes of free clothes to give away were organized and prepared for donation pick-ups. i was starving after spending four solid, sweaty hours climbing all over our closets and scrambling through knick knacks. it was time for a treat. it was fancy-party guacamole extravaganza…for one.

‘all other vegetables can go fuck themselves’, i thought to myself smugly, as i mashed the buttery-soft avocado into a neat little mountain of yum. i coated my treat with a heaping helping of salt (windsor, natch), selected a yet-to-be-opened box of wheat thins and got to werk. 

it was disgusting. not the guac, no, but the sight of me: bun (ahem, top knot, apologies) all a-kimbo, last night’s eyeliner drooping into my laugh lines, wearing the oldest and stainy-est grey sweatpants i could find and half of my skull dipped into a bowl of squished avocado. deeeelight. the true cherry on this soggy cake was the fact that i’d discovered that we are receiving free cable par accident, and i was casually guffawing at the likes of some shit having to do with terrible bridesmaids. oh, the horror. i was not only what i ate (salt loaded with extra sodium), but also what i was inhaling mentally: garbage (or what the french call, ‘poubelle’).

when i had properly stuffed my gut to a bloated, hardened mass, i stumbled my way past boxes of old t-shirts and boots so that i may quench my raging thirst in the kitchen. so enveloped was i in my snuggie of tasty treats that i didn’t notice my left foot hooking itself in a rogue dining chair. sadly, my food-coma was fast approaching and i was not swift enough to save my right foot from fucking the already-lame left foot over. also, i’m clumsy.

i trundled and tripped and slammed my pointy chin deep into the klik-klack imitation hardwood and collection of beard hair-bales. my teeth met my lip. my knees were raw thanks to the squeaky friction they endured in the fall and my wrist went all floppy and terrible. worst of all: wheat thins went everywhere. bowl of leftover guac rolled all the way home (to the bedroom) and i had no idea where the fork went.

so embarrassed was i to have experienced all of this pain and wasted food (and in clear display to the neighbours) that i didn’t properly pick up after my spill. i hurriedly swept up the furry wheaties and wiped up what i saw of the avocado splat. i raced out the door in order to feel ‘productive’ and less hateful about my over-indulgent, lazy self.

i was gone for a little over two hours. lieufa called when i was nearly home. i could see the apartment from where i stood in the commons. he asked:

“the hell is all over the kitchen, bean? what were you doing today? are you okay?”

when i got home, i was greeted with what looked to be an emergency poo-poltergeist visit. there were differently-shaped brown blobs of mystery goop everywhere: the ceiling, the closet, the doorknob, on my calendar…it was all so confusing! who or what could have broken in on such a beautiful day and defecated all over our home? what kind of sick prank was this?

moral of the story: spilling guacamole sends out an invisible signal to mystery apartment ghost-poopers to visit. also, i am what’s wrong with the world.