In the Soup - Hand-made Collage

My sister smacked me in the back of the head. "Don't stare," she hissed. I couldn't help myself. It was the most remarkable sight. Sam, the foreign exchange student who was spending the fall with my family had rolled up his trousers, taken off his socks and proceeded to soak his feet in our gigantic communal bowl of soup. "Sam, Dear," my mother said in that patronizing tone, "We don't put our feet into the soup. We eatee." I didn't know to feel more embarassed for: my mother or him. Sam seemed blissfully oblivious to her plea and heaved an enormous sigh of satisfaction. That sealed it for me. I bent over and started to untie my shoes. My sister bent down next to me and smiled. In that way only siblings communicate without saying a word, we both tossed off our shoes and socks and climbed into the bowl with Sam. And although all three of us went to bed that night with no dinner, I climbed into bed feeling warm and sated.