Edith Shrivel sat down at her table with her soup. She was a small woman, and like her surname implied, she looked like a raisin. Her feet dangled above the floor as she sat in her seat, and the bridge of her nose sat even with the surface of the table. To eat her soup, she really had to drink it. With both hands she grabbed it, brought it to her mouth, then slurped. As she returned it to the table, it caught on the edge, spilling over the entire surface.
Patiently, Edith descended from the chair, walked over to the cupboard and retrieved a towel. She returned to her seat and climbed back up, then stood on top to climb onto the table. Then she put the towel down and stood on it, shuffling around and soaking up the soup. She returned to her place at the table, climbed back down to the chair, then to the floor, and threw the towel into the laundry hamper.
Again, she returned to her seat, climbed up and sat to take another sip of her soup, but when she reached for it, she realized she had forgotten a napkin. So once again she descended from her chair, then fetched a napkin. And again, she climbed into her seat.
Edith placed her napkin on her lap, then went to drink more soup, but found it to be too cold. She instead descended once again from her chair, placing her soup on her seat as she did so. She then retrieved a step stool from the closet and placed it in front of the sink. Then she returned to her seat to fetch the bowl of soup and carefully carried it over to the step stool and placed it in the sink.
The irony was she was now hungrier than when she sat down to eat. With a sigh, Edith decided that beef stew would be the better choice to sate her hunger now. So once again she retrieved her cooking supplies, ignited the stove, and began the process of cooking another bowl-based meal.
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