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Reflections Upon Second Thought
My beginnings, less than noble at best, were nonetheless dignified for their modesty. At one point in time, I experienced all the happiness of care-free days spent running in the sun with my siblings. Well, actually, that may be a bit of an amplification of circumstances. In truth, I was part of the musculature structure of a young hog that was allowed to frolic with his/her pen-mates. Now, don’t look at me like that… I said my beginnings were modest, didn’t I?
Alas, as is the way with all creatures big and small, time had its way of expanding my donor-creature until his/her proportions gained a size deemed worthy of harvesting, and I became what I am now, a slice of pepperoni. Not exactly the Hope Diamond, I admit, but I’m a nice slice of pepperoni, nearly two full inches in diameter, of uniform thickness, and perfectly round.
I’m not complaining, you understand, I’ve come to accept my lot in life. Truth be known, I hardly expected to be talking to you right now. I’ve nearly completed my metamorphic cycle, insofar as it benefits humankind. My present form is the last stop before complete digestion into the recycling bin of basic component nutrients.
In fact, if the babysitter hadn’t chosen to talk to her boyfriend for several hours while the kiddies were left unsupervised to eat pizza and watch Rugrats: The Movie, I wouldn’t be talking to you at all. I fully expected to be ripped to shreds by greedy masticators before being sent on a wild ride down a hot chute directly into a bubbling vat of acid.
Nope. Not today… maybe not ever.
It seems there is a certain four-year-old boy who doesn’t appreciate the acquired taste of good pepperoni, choosing to peel said pepperoni off the pizza slice and deposit me between the seat cushions; an ignominious fate at best.
Had I means of locomotion, perhaps I’d visit the mozzarella-laden half-piece located several feet down. That poor devil has been pushed nearly all the way under the back cushion… he’ll be stinking to high heaven before he’s ever located. Likely as not, before this child is finished, half the pizza will be situated in my area.
The only intimate neighbors I have at present are two tiny pieces of fabric lint and a hair of unknown origin. If I had to guess, given its curliness I’d say— well, never mind… let’s just say the babysitter was here a little earlier. There’s a coin of some sort, too, but I think it’s a penny, hardly worth the effort of extraction.
My only real hope of repatriation into the human world is the remote control lodged under the side of the sofa. I’m close enough to it, that if someone reaches for it, I might just be able to use my grease-factor to trigger recognition of my presence.
So, here I’ll stay, until mom or dad comes home and looks for the remote control. I don’t hold out much hope to be eaten, unless dad is alone and has the munchies, and even then, the odds are fifty-fifty at best.
Folks, let this sad story be a wake-up call. No pepperoni deserves this, not even the pre-packaged variety. Sure, they’re small, rubbery, and nearly tasteless, but they do the best they can…
Wait! Did I say I’m a pepperoni? Sorry about that… being an attractive slice of pepperoni would be a blessing. I’m actually the guy who’s robbing your house, stealing your TV and computer. I’m killing a little time while my partner goes through your bedroom drawers. I just finished rifling the sofa, looking for anything of value; but if I’d said that right up front, you wouldn’t have read all this, would you? Honestly, you people are so gullible…
Bob Church © 7/02
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