When people eat, sometimes the sounds are not so nice. |
As a dieter I must say I was none too keen on the lip-smacking, tongue-clucking sounds of eating, those manner-voided, teeth-gritting audio atrocities produced by enforcers of rude, the din of dinners schemed by open-mouthed troglodytes who wore food as well as, if not better than, they who consumed it. It was a symphony of saliva sass, a morphing of molar clack and fat-lipped slurp wherein silence widened her eyes in a profound shiver of shock. She left in a pique--I don’t blame her. The munch, the gulp, the recurring resonation of tramp and drool unbefitting of human beings with a dram of dignity. Table manners ala the caves of Neanderthals and howler monkeys. Gormandize gone mad, this audition of feed mixed with uncouth sound, wherein we who resisted grub suffered. This suffering was bad enough due to aromas which enticed, lured and titillated. Add to that, though, those masticating smacks, those snaps of whip-like tongues from incisors to the roof of mouth, and then the dieting discomfort climbed a ladder and dangled, holding on with one arm. Thus I swallowed, apologetically, to taste buds, and I gulped in unfeigned sorrow for the journeyman of acid-reflux, for the simple reflex of Adam’s Apple. Belly up to the buffet all ye who plundered civil conduct, all those who munched and gnawed and crunched to the staccato of hobo drums. Chomped with zest and, with open maws, spooned those man-made indiscretions of burger tones and snippets of syllables dipped in grease and gristle onto the tables of humanity. We did our best to survive it; we built our constitutions forthright. And then, one day, manners prevailed. There was nothing left, but silence alone. 34 Lines Writer’s Cramp 9-23-16 |