Meatballs

Last night, I helped my mother make meatballs. My specific role in the meatball-making process was to mix the mince (which had just come out of the fridge and was still frozen in places due to the fact that it had been in the freezer that morning) and the other ingredients together. With my hands.

From my observation, one goes through several emotional stages during this process.

First, there is the ‘This Is Not So Bad’ stage.

Which is shortly followed by the ‘Oh God My Hands Are Freezing Off’ stage.

This gives way to the ‘No, I Can’t Do This, My Hands Hurt Too Much’ stage.

This soon becomes the ‘Trying To Avoid Feeling Further Pain’ stage, which consists of tentatively kneading the meat with one hand at a time.

Which is eventually followed by the ‘Fuck It, I Am Going To Attack This Mince With Vigour And Determination In The Hopes That This Will Prevent Me From Feeling Further Pain’ stage.

The whole ordeal is concluded with one final stage: ‘Look At Me I Am A Fucking Meat Warrior, Even Though Tears Of Pain Are Streaming Down My Face I Am Kneading Cold Raw Meat With My Bare Hands And Nothing Can Stop Me’.