Page 26 of Mayhem and Minnie

Now that she’s no longer the scaredy cat I saved, she’s effusive and warm—too bubbly.

I hate bubbly.

She speaks too much too. She does too much. Why can’t she eat quietly and be thankful she’s not starving tonight?

“Try this, too,” she hurries to add, grabbing another piece of pancake, this time with some chocolate sauce on top.

A shudder goes down my back.

I despise chocolate.

It’s far too sweet. Too milky. Too…delicious.

One misstep is enough.

I grab her hand and stop her, communicating with my eyes that she has overstepped her boundaries. But she doesn’t notice. She thinks this is a game. So she leans farther across the table.

In her attempt to reach me, she ends up knocking a plate to the floor. Onion rings and mozzarella sticks fall to the ground. Her pouty mouth forms a small O as she stares at the food on the floor. I lift my hand to signal the waitress to come clean the mess when she suddenly drops to her knees on the ground, grabbing the plate and placing the food back on it.

She won’t eat that, will she? She’ll throw it away, right?

Wrong.

As she places it in front of her, she grabs a mozzarella stick, blows on it a couple of times, and stuffs it in her mouth. Then she smacks her lips together as if it were the most delicious thing in existence.

True horror grips me. I hold on to my seat so I don’t explode.

That thing touched the dirty floor. Tens if not hundreds of shoes have stomped on that floor since God knows when it was last cleaned.

Hundreds of shoes that carry all types of grime, dirt, and bacteria with them.

My stomach rumbles in protest.

Acid makes its way up my throat.

Minnie pays it no mind, however, taking another stick, then an onion ring. She blows on them as before, and she eats them with gusto.

“How can you eat that?” I mutter, my voice full of shock.

She raises her brow at me. Her lashes flutter in confusion.

“What do you mean?” She frowns.

“It fell down. You should have thrown it away.”

“Throw food away?” Her expression is horrified. “Are you mad?”

“I should ask you the same,” I say through gritted teeth. “Have you any idea how dirty that floor is?”

She tilts her head to the side, then shrugs.

“I’ve had worse.”

I gawk at her.

“Worse?”

“It might not be the best time to tell you about dumpster diving.” She giggles.

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