It wasn't the endless meetings or the constant

It wasn't the endless meetings or the constant questions that made Harold snap. It wasn't the incompetence or the tedium or the lack of respect or the overpriced Funyuns.

It was the childlike artwork on the walls in primary colors. Day after humdrum day of red, blue and yellow dogs, cats and Mommies and Daddies with outstretched hands, flowers that

a little known show called, "Salute Your Shorts." She also made "nachos" by melting velveeta on saltines. In the microwave of all things. The cheese always got petrified.

But I was secretly in love with her, so I'd eat literally anything she put in front of me. I think she suspected how I felt & decided to test me because one day she served up some

of her hair. It was nicely plated with a parsley sprig and lemon slice. I forced a smile and tucked in my napkin. She sat across from me leaned her chin on her palm and waited.

I began to eat. She watched me as if she were interested. I cast sidelong glances at her. I felt quite uncomfortable when people watched me eat. Then she said,

"You need to chew each mouthful at least 20 times for the food paste to be of optimal consistency for the stomach acids and enzymes to digest properly." She tutted as I gagged on

the broccoli. No, don't lecture me! I thought frantically. Seeing as she wouldn't help, I tried to hit myself on the back to dislodge the broccoli in my throat.

Why wasn't she helping? It was only as I choked to death, my vision blurred, that I got my answer. "Revenge for the time you peed on the carpet," she whispered. And I died.