Warning: May Talk To Vegetables

I left work today feeling famished - I didn't want that orange sitting in my bag, I wanted to go home and prepare myself a fresh-cooked dinner before my audition tonight. Once I got in, I pulled out my necessities for the meal: garlic, onion, cream of mushroom soup, broccoli, chicken and rotini and commenced chopping. As I'm mincing my garlic, I worried about the smell of it staying on my fingers all night and what the film guy would think when he was about to meet me in an hour. When I moved to the onion, I thought about how handy it would be if I could carry one and sniff it discretely to cry on cue for the scene I had to do. Not a second later, the little onion molecules wafted their way up from the cutting board, into my eye sockets and thus commenced the Great Onion Cry Fest. It was a small onion too, but that little bugger worked its way into my nose and eyes and soon everything was stinging and blurry and I was sniffling like mad. I rinsed it under the tap TWICE and still, I stood there trying to chop the damn thing with my eyes mostly closed and tears leaking down my cheeks. I pressed my eyelids closed and mushed my face into my sleeve, "Wah, stop it! Stop *sniff* making me *sniff* ...cry! Wahhh..."

The onion did not respond. I wrenched open my eyelids and kept chopping. The onion kept attacking, as if its smell and ability to make a person's eyeballs scream in pain and nose drip was some sort of natural self-defense mechanism when sharp kitchen utensils came near. My eyes kept stinging and I kept sniffling, "Wah! Stoppp itttt...!!"

I soon tamed the beast and killed it into a handful of tiny strips and tossed everything into the pot. Defeated, the onion was cooked deliciously along with his other veggie mates and devoured. My roommate came out of her room while I was eating at the kitchen table.

"Oh! Hey Em, I didn't know you were home."

"Yeah, I was just studying... Did I hear you talking earlier?"

"Oh..! Yes, I guess so - sorry, didn't mean to bother you. Sometimes I talk to myself when I cook."

"Well, you weren't really talking to yourself, were you?"

"...ye-ahhh, I was pretty much...talking to the onion."

Sometimes I feel as though I should have a disclaimer or something, fine print that people should read before they agree to move in with me.
7:32 pm