F&F

France, night

F&F stands for food and floor. The combination is not that obvious. Except for who personally knows me. Then it becomes more than obvious.

My mum always says that she realizes when I am at her place by the amount of food that she can find on her kitchen floor. I don't know how this happens. I eat with manners, in an educate way, but maybe my mouth is too large or maybe I want to do too many things at the same time. In any case, no matter how, part of my food always ends up on the floor.

Tonight I had vegetables with cous cous. I bought the small cous cous, the one with these small pieces that spread well everywhere in an almost invisible way when they finish on the floor. Invisible till you step barefoot on them and then they stick to your feet and you keep spreding part of them everywhere in the house. And this has been the dinamic of my dinner this evening. Me eating vegetable and cous cous. The cous cous falling from every side to the floor and spreading around. Me walking barefoot, stepping on pieces of it, having the cous cous sticking to my feet and keep walking around the house sticking the cous cous around.

I know what I will have to do tomorrow. Clean the floor. I should just eliminate any food that is a) small enough to not been easily seen and picked up and b) any food that may stick to my feet, to the floor or to both.