I open my eyes and prepare to consume what the TV set has to offer me this fine evening.
I scan the menu.
Perhaps a steaming hot reality series, or an ice-cold documentary?
Maybe a light airy
comedy, or a dark
heavy drama.
So many choices.
In the end, I settle for a leftover movie.
I've tried it before, and liked it then.
Hopefully it keeps well.
I tell the TV my order using its language, a series of button pushes on the remote.
My meal is prepared almost instantly.
I take a nibble of it, and quickly discover
that the dish has become bland and stale,
not at all how I remember it.
The meal I remember was bursting with new,
exciting flavors.
I had enjoyed it from start to finish, each new scene bringing me a brand new palate
of taste, from delectably sweet
to putrid and bitter,
and everything in between.
But now that I've already experienced these flavors, the dish bores me.
I bring up my menu again, looking to find
the perfect meal.
But the longer I search, the less appetizing the meals appear to me.
This restaurant serves nothing but junk food!
I slam my menu down
and storm out of the dining room.
It is then that I see it.
Sitting on a bookshelf,
two feet above me and directly to my left, is the most tantalizing thing that I've seen all day.
Its delicious aroma fills my nostrils, and I can hear its sentences sizzling like a fancy steak on the grill.
I reach for it
and take a moment to admire its skillful preparation.
It is obvious
that the chef took great pride
in this extravagant entrée,
and I can only imagine how long it must have taken
to craft such a masterpiece.
I flip open the cover and begin to read.
Dinner is served.