6

When my friend Abby invited me over for dinner one night, I thought that I'd enjoy some pasta, or maybe some steak, followed by some sweet apple pie. I thought wrong. There's only one word for Abby's concoction: disgusting.

The first thing that struck me as I walked through Abby's front door was a pungent odor that smelled like rotten tomatoes mixed with some tropical fruit. Abby, however, didn't notice anything. "I hope you enjoy tonight's dinner! It's very original, I didn't use a cookbook!" She grinned, looking proud of her creativity.

"Wow. I didn't know you could cook." I replied.

"Well, I figured it out. A little spice here, some salt there- it's not hard."

I followed Abby into her kitchen. It looked quite nice, actually. She had set a chestnut-hued table in the center of the kitchen. The white floor tiles, tan walls, granite counter matched the table. The oder, however, was overwhelming here. I sank in the nearest chair, waiting for a wave of nausea to cease. Abby brought two bowls of soggy spinach, brownish chunks, and orange cubes over and set one in front of me. Handing me a fork, she cheerfully said, "First course is my tropical chicken salad!" She sat down in front of me and took a bite from her own bowl. "I think the papaya gives the chicken a nice flavor, don't you think?"

I scooped some spinach and a chunk of each color onto my fork and examined it. The chicken seemed to have the same texture as the fruit, and the spinach looked unappetizing at best. Still, I shoved the bite into my mouth- and nearly gagged. The papaya was extremely soggy and tasted like it was more than a week overripe. The chicken -stringy and tough- was even worse, and seemed like it was boiled for a couple hours. The spinach was bland and somehow slimy. I choked down the bite and reached for the glass of milk Abby had set in front of me. Bad idea. The milk was spoiled and tasted like rotten eggs. "Do you *cough* have water?" I choked out.

"Sure!" Abby took out a glass and filled it at the sink. I took it from her and gulped it all down. "Aren't you going to finish your salad?" She inquired.

"Er... I don't want to get full before the main course."

"Of course! The main course is pasta with seafood. I'll get it now." Abby placed a tomato sauce-covered plate in front of me.

The tomato sauce on the pasta smelled like it was home to mold. I pushed the sauce over to the side to uncover the pasta and seafood. A horrible fishy smell wafted up from my plate. I gagged. What, exactly, did she put in this? I could see a gray chunk of meat, a pink object that was hopefully shrimp, and a closed clam. I stared at the clam. Why was it closed? Then realization hit me. When a clam is closed, I remembered, it's still alive! I pushed the clam over to the side with the tomato sauce and examined the noodles. The fettuccine noodles were all stuck together-but what else could I eat? Taking care to scoop off the tomato sauce, I picked some noodles up with my fork and took a bite. The noodles immediately stuck to my teeth! I attempted to unstick the noodles from my teeth with my fork. The noodles came off and I forced myself to swallow them. "Try the fish! It's my favorite part of this dish." Abby held up the gray meat with her fork.

I stared at the fish, my stomach sinking with dread. How was I ever going to eat that gray pulpy mass of overcooked meat? Closing my eyes, I swallowed a tiny piece as fast as I could. The bitter and rotten taste overtook my senses. Eyes watering, I grabbed my glass, rushed for the sink, filled it with water, and downed it. "You OK?" asked Abby, concerned.

"Stomachache. I should go home," I gagged.

"Uh oh. Well, bye. See you another day." Abby looked disappointed.

I mentally sighed with relief and as I stepped outside, I breathed deeply, inhaling fresh air. Then I got in my car- and headed for the nearest McDonald's.