Back in Boise, that same little girl, the day after devouring the happy sandwich, decided to make a bowl of soup. She went to the cabinet to find some chicken noodle. She found 37 cans of Tamato. 37. Cans. Of. Tomato. It was very apparent that her parents were determined to starve her to death. She questioned each can, trying to determine why they were tomato. The cans, being unable to answer, increased her level of frustration. So she decided to try the soup. Opening the can, she somehow managed to cut her finger on the lid. She sighed heavily. Now there was blood in her tomato soup. She poured the can into a bowl. The bowl was much more accepting of the soup than the girl. She picked up the bowl, fumbled it a little, and spoiled soup on her nice, clean shirt. At this point the frustration started to grow like a tea kettle starting to boil. She angrily through the bowl of soup out into the back yard. Next can. She began the process again. This time the bowl managed to make it into the microwave without incident. While the soup cooked, she began searching for a spoon. 23 forks and 18 knives later, she came across a small dessert spoon. Not wanting to wash one, she decided to try it. So, now, with her unwated soup ,in the second bowl, with a tiny spoon, she say down to try tomato soup. Now the soup was bitter. She had very few crackers so decided to find some salt. You would think every house would have salt. Not today. Sure found the shaker empty. Out of pure frustration she began to weep loudly like two seals mating violently in a cave. This was possibly a bit dramatic for this series of events but her response to it all seemed a blessing. Just then she realized....tears have salt. She turned her face to the side. Letting the tears drip slowly into the soup. Once the flood subsided, she tried the soup. That was much better. Sure she'd never get a spot with Rachel Ray but at least the soup was bearable. She smiled at her own ingenuity. Today had been a good day.


© The Moonlight Bard