[image title=”Its so cute when someone tries to be all delicate and sweet with their food… then goes ‘screw it’ and shoves it all down their throat at once as if it’s going to sneak off their plate if left too long.” size=”large” id=”932″ align=”center” alt=”Its so cute when someone tries to be all delicate and sweet with their food… then goes ‘screw it’ and shoves it all down their throat at once as if it’s going to sneak off their plate if left too long.Its so cute when someone tries to be all delicate and sweet with their food… then goes ‘screw it’ and shoves it all down their throat at once as if it’s going to sneak off their plate if left too long.” linkto=”viewer” ]

Today it isn’t even really so much a sketch as a few words scrawled (quite prettily though) against the page of one of my mini sketch-books. I’ve skipped a page in between – it involved more cherries. In fact, those cherries the other day were so tasty that I need to go out and get some more.

What bought to mind this particular set of words? Probably my cat. We call Penny (she’s a lynx-point siamese cross) the Nom-nom monster… and I just love ‘nom’. Its so onomatopoeic. When it comes to cherries, I get to be a bit of a Nom-nom monster myself. I eat slow, by anyone’s standards, but cherries seem just to disappear when I have them. I’ll nibble delicately at the first few, savouring each wonderful plump, juicy fruit as the juices seep onto my tongue, spitting out the pip with much relish into a near-by empty coffee cup… and I believe that the rest are just as savoured and as slowly eaten, but I do seem to go through them oh so quickly. By my standards at least.

I think that the pace increases closer to the middle of the bag – slow to start off with, nibbling, savouring, suckling from them every last ounce of sweet delicious taste before sampling the next… then more quicker as they seem plentiful, descending to another slow and thoughtful processing once that middle peak has been surmounted, while nudging the more unworthy cherries to be eaten first, with the pinnacle of cherryness left to the very last.

I’ll say this about the Christmas season: I don’t want to go to the malls, or traverse the tightly bunched up crowds of mothers, screaming children, and teens with naught to do but hang out at the mall now that school is over… but a trip to the supermarket for cherries? I think I can manage that. Ok, off I go…