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Disorderly Conduct
I sat staring at my dinner, inconsolable. My wife seemed worried that I was uncommunicative and unresponsive so she left the room to make a quick phone call. She was well aware that in the winter months I would frequently succumb to bouts of depression and lose my appetite and she tried to combat this by preparing some of the most delectable meals any man could hope to eat. But I couldn't.
"I've called a Ruminator. He'll be here shortly" my wife announced and even started to cut the steak up into small squares. Skewering one piece on the slender tines of my fork she lifted the mote of meat to my lips. I shook my head, refusing to open.
There was a knock at the door and my wife leapt up to answer it. A man walked into the room with a small toolbox and he stood beside me, peering down at me.
"Hmmm, yes, and you say he's got no appetite?" my wife nodded in response.
The Ruminator took the fork and sampled the steak. It had been prepared in a succulent garlic and lemon rub and cooked medium, lovingly tenderised beforehand. He cut himself a much larger piece and wolfed it down, making appreciative noises that I ignored in abject dejection. He then opened the small toolbox he had brought with him and removed a salt shaker, adding some low sodium salt to the green beans and eating those as well. The horseradish mash that my wife has spent years perfecting followed soon after.
When he had finished, the Ruminator asked for a minute and sat at the table quietly. His stomach gurgled.
"Do you think you can help him?" asked my wife after a while. The Ruminator simply lifted one hand to silence her.
"Ma'am, it's my job to help those who can't even break their holiday funk and bring themselves to enjoy such a delicious meal as that was. After all, our company motto is we chew, you swallow. With that, he leaned over the table close enough to kiss me, pinched my nose, drawing my head back and my mouth open, and prepared to regurgitate.
Dec.13.2006