What’s your pica?
Pica — eating of, or craving to eat, things that are not food.
I‘d’ tell you mine.
Tonight, I had just taken the dishes to the sink to wash. The sponge wasn’t on the sink table. I asked for a new sponge and got one made of foam.
In a manner akin to my childhood days, I raised it to my nose and sniffed. Oh, it smelled so good. It’s new, and I can’t get over the scent of freshly cut foam.
I waved the urge to bite into it, reaching for the liquid soap nearby and pouring some over it. That way, I’m sure the taste is ruined and that it’s contaminated — not that it wasn’t, anyway.
But that’s enough about foam.
I used to have another — one I remember indulging in vaguely — eating sand. I never feel the urge to do so anymore. Maybe it’s because everything descends upon the sand: people, animals, even trees. Not to mention that it absorbs the worst of them — faeces, carcass, decay, you name it.
I believe the thought of all that should make anyone desist, just as I suspect it did for me. After all, who wants to consume something that absorbs the worst of everything? It’s pica, anyway, not pizza.
Tell me about yours; I’d love to hear it.
