Spiralize Me!

I snap out of my funk just in time to avoid slicing the hell out of my fingers. On my plate should be a pile of detoxifying, metabolism-boosting vegetable noodles, but there's nothing. Not a shred, not a scrap. I pull out my zucchini nub and peer deep inside the funnel. I should see my kitchen counter through the other end, but instead I marvel at tiny galaxies spinning, stars hot and white. My head starts spinning as well. Maybe my cravings have finally gotten the best of me. Maybe this hellish week of low-carb lunacy has burnt out my synapses. I rub my eyes and look again, mesmerized by the siren call of a graceful nebula, all the right shades of red and yellow and blue. In my hands I hold my own personal wormhole, ready to whisk me off to a new world... maybe one where the vegetables know better than to try to rise above their station.

Carefully, I place my hand into the spiralizer, wondering where it will take me, dreaming of all of the possibilities. I hesitate.

What if it doesn't work? What if the only place it sends me is to the E.R.? Honestly, I can deal with sliced up knuckles. What I can't deal with are the lunchtime stares and the receptionist's pouty, disappointed lips every time I bite into egg salad with bacon bits surrounded by two soft slices of sourdough. No effin' way.

I stare at my sleek, new veggie spiralizer, and with childlike anticipation, I twist.