Rice. I love you. I hate you. I can't live without you. I hate the way you stick to clothes. You fall from the table onto my chair, smashed up onto the seat of my pants. A thick film of paste, impossible to remove. Walking around with you stuck on my clothes is more embarrassing than living my worst hair day. I hate you when you dry up into little bullets that are as hard as diamonds on my socks. You reveal yourself the next morning inside my shoe, reminding me of our lifelong bond. I try to keep you off the floor, but always you sneak into the tentacles of the carpet. But I can't live without you. One week without rice, I start to get the shakes.
Why rice? Why do you torment me so?
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