You want me to eat what?

Have you ever wondered why your friends can't just eat things 

without feeling the need to feed them to you? I mean some 

things just don't inspire in me a deep abiding desire to put 

them in my mouth. Seriously. Like cottage cheese...pasty 

little bumps...what are they, anyway? Sour milk lumps? 

Smooshed up cheeses? I'm not even sure I want to 

know.

So a posh friend offers me a slick white plate of little

wafers topped with a quarter teaspoon of glistening black 

goo...

Caviar, she gushes, try one.

And I'm thinking, isn't caviar fish eggs? Isn't that 

cracker smeared with dozens of eggs full of teeny tiny baby 

fishes? Teeny tiny RAW baby fishes. This does not make me hungry. 

I demur, watching my cholesterol, I murmur.

(do teeny tiny raw baby fishes contain cholesterol?)

Oh, silly, she says, pop one in and crush it against the 

roof of your mouth. 

She demonstrates.

I feel queasy contemplating the slaughter of myriads of teeny 

tiny baby fishes...and eat an egg roll instead. Egg rolls do 

not contain eggs, but have little shrimps which are shrimp, 

which are not fishes exactly, or at least not teeny tiny baby 

fishes...those are grown-up fending for themselves 

shrimpy-fishes I'm eating. Which is totally different. 

Not to mention cooked.

In which she gets cranky...

I used to have a blog where I wrote about writing. Craft. Book reviews. Book news. And I discovered that after writing fiction the last thing I wanted to do was, well, write about writing. So I avoided my blog. Gave it the cold shoulder. Humming (being constitutionally unable to whistle--now why is that? Must ponder that one sometime)  tunelessly to drown out the whining nagging and increasingly strident voice of my neglected blog calling to me to update it already. So I taught it a lesson; I deleted it.

But I miss it. (oh, the perversity of human nature, never satisfied! And any minute now it will think it wants a cookie, which it DOES NOT NEED.) Then a writing friend of mine (the best kind of friend to have) suggested to me that I blog about my crankiness.

Crankiness? you ask, what the heck. No, really, crankiness...not cranky as in crabby (ok ok so maybe a tiny bit crabby, sometimes) but crankiness as in crank. As in the little lever that turns things. The niggling little issues of life that turn one's crank and set one's blood simmering. Not boiling, just simmering.
AH, let the crankiness commence!