You try to call out for help, but either the chef can’t hear you or she simply doesn’t care. The ladle finally captures you, drawing you in, lifting you up hundreds of feet in the air, and dumping you unceremoniously into a serving bowl, disoriented and trapped in a pool of rolled oats.
You get your bearings and surface, only to be hit by several giant berries landing around you (as well as on top of you) and a viscous swirl of honey, lines of it hitting and sticking to your skin in the most uncomfortable way. You’re pushed down onto your front by the force of the chef aggressively dumping the bowl you’re in on the counter and ringing the bell. As you struggle to pull yourself back up again, your body coated in oatmeal leaving you entirely unrecognisable, you stumble once more as the waitress retrieves the dish.
The plate lands with a clink on the table, the pool of oatmeal shifting with a wave-like current as it does so. You finally have the opportunity to reposition yourself in the steaming soup around you. You struggle to get up on your hands and knees, shaking the clumps free from your body, the oatmeal the only think covering your naked form (or keeping you warm). You finally have a chance to look up at the customer.
You see a gigantic woman, with long, wavy black hair, golden, sun-kissed skin, deep brown eyes, plump, pillowy lips coating in lip gloss, and a green, tight fitting singlet, seemingly barely containing her sizeable breasts. Her eyes are transfixed towards her phone in the distance as she lazily scrolls with her right hand. Her left, unnervingly, holds a colossal spoon, a loud clink sound ringing all around you as she subconsciously taps the side of the bowl with it.
Then, her eyes still focused on her phone, she scoops up some oatmeal and brings it to her lips, lazily swishing it around before swallowing it.
“Bleck… cold,” is all she says before continuing to tap the side of the bowl.
You attempt to climb out of the bowl, but between your exhausted muscles and the fact your body is weighed down by about a hundred pounds of oats you just can’t seem to make it. You could try climbing onto the spoon but that’d surely be suicide. Alternatively, you could wait until she stops eating. It seems like she’s not going to finish it, and you might be able to get the attention of the waitstaff.
