Day 80: Begin eating a piece of furniture.

The Book recommends going about this task by reducing a small chunk of said piece of furniture to sawdust — by filing, which seems inefficient — and sprinkling said sawdust on one’s food, like tasteless, indigestible salt.

The only issue is that I don’t have any raw, unfinished wooden furniture that can be slowly consumed. I’m not sure I have any unfinished wooden furniture, period, and I certainly don’t want to ingest paint or stain, even in small quantities, on a daily basis. Look what happened to Caravaggio. And Goya. And van Gogh.

On the other hand, I felt like I should, today at least, eat some wood — and yes, I’m aware of the double entendre. Anything, with surprisingly minimal effort, can be construed as relating to sexual behavior or characteristics. Try it sometime: it’s all in the intonation.

Anyway: I felt that I ought to consume some cellulose. To that end, therefore, I clipped a tender young branchlet from one of the Bradford pear trees that grows on the west side of our house, chopped it up, and ate it.

It was… surprisingly unchewable, which I guess makes it inedible? It didn’t taste bad, exactly – though it didn’t taste good, either. I don’t think it would be noticeable, mixed into something like potato soup or chili or a nice hearty pasta. Why on earth one would do that, though, I don’t know. Then again, I don’t know why I ate a stick tonight.

I had to just swallow it, in the end, like it was an ibuprofen – and, like I do with ibuprofen, I took it with bourbon instead of water. Because why not?

I didn’t, for the record, eat the whole stick, just a few pieces, because getting the whole thing down would’ve taken more bourbon than it’s probably good for me to drink in a short amount of time. The last time I did shots like that, if I remember correctly, and I don’t, because I was really drunk, because I drank a bunch of liquor in a short amount of time – I say, the last time I did shots, I told a really incoherent version of the tale of Ali Baba and the forty thieves, and I may have written “I’m drunk” on the outside wall of my house, by the side door. I also had a really bad hangover in the morning, and a justly unsympathetic wife.

Needless to say, I don’t do that anymore.


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