taste-tester

As my stomach hungers for nourishment, I find myself strolling to the refrigerator. Upon the first glance into the deep coves of refrigeration, I find nothing but beverages, condiments, thawing meat, and questionable leftovers. Nothing appetizing is discovered. My gut instinct, which is located near my rumbling tummy, tells me to take another gander. Then I see it, the ham sandwich, enclosed in a plastic bag, ready to be consumed for someone's lunch the next day, taunting me. There's something so alluring about the blandness of the processed cold-cut on tasteless bread. I find myself wickedly tempted to take a taste. I ponder the discovery of a half eaten sandwich by an unexpecting family member. The thrill grows inside of me. The image of a single bite mark leaves my mind, as a giggle leaves my lips. I am indeed an evil being.