I’m in the residential dining hall with my suitemates Lisa and Sunny. We’re talking about sausages.

Why? Because April 30th is ‘National Sausage day.”
Someone mentioned that when I complained about the beyond-meat hot dog atrocities they serve here, in the dining hall, as if they were food.
“Can we get some real food here?” I moaned.
“These are ok,” Sunny pronounced, examining hers closely.
“That’s what we want,” I went off, “the average, the acceptable, let's build our lives around that.”
“I think they’re Canada,” Lisa said.

“That’s why there’s no ketchup (in the dining hall) - they decided it was unhealthy,” I replied bitterly (with a few expletives removed here - I’ve really fallen into some obscene verbal habits) “What are we supposed to DO?” I asked rhetorically, “Start carrying our own ketchup packets everywhere? Noone here’s over 23 - will ketchup **** us?”
“I miss the ketchup,” Sunny agreed sadly.
“Nothing’s perfect,” Lisa shrugged.

“That’s true,” I said, “I’m thinking of a specific, textural issue I have with sausages - even though I love ‘em”
“Issue!” Lisa chuckled. “Major issue,” I added nodding.
“Conflict!” Sunny updogged. “Oh, No!” Lisa laughed.
“The really good sausages, like you get on a charcuterie board? Have this little bit at the end - the tie-off?”
“The casing,” Sunny named it. “Yeah,” I agreed, “those can be hard to chew but I usually do it anyway,” I said.
“Because what can you do?” Lisa added, “Spit it out in front of everyone?” she asked rhetorically.

“I took étiquette lessons one summer, when I stayed with my Gandmère - I was seven,” I grinned, remembering. "We were at dinner one night - she has this long table that’s always full of guests - when she suddenly looked down at me and pronounced, ‘You’re just a little savage, aren’t you?’"
"7-year-old me froze, unsure how to answer THAT."

“The next morning, I began ‘L'art de vivre’ (the art of life’) lessons, with an old, brusque nun - Sister Thérèse.”
“Too funny,” Sunny snorted.
“When did you forget all that,” Lisa asked innocently.

“Anyway,” I continued, “The rule is: if you get a mouth full of gristle or something, you just spit it out - you don’t make a show of it - you don’t go with a giant ‘blaah’ or something - but you don’t swallow it either,” I finished, shivering at the thought.
“Really,” Sunny said, watching me closely for signs of deception. “Chyeah,” I assured her.
“What else you got?” Lisa asked, fishing for more tips.
“Mmm,” I hummed, considering, “Elbows on the table - good - not bad.”
“Whaaaaaat?!” Sunny practically shreeked. Lisa chortled.
“If your hands are in your lap, at least in France, everyone assumes you’re diddling yourself, or someone else,” I said, grinning.
“Now you’re just making things up,” Sunny said, making a snarky face. Lisa looked dubious.
“On God,” I said, offering a Girl scout salute.
“Sister Thérèse told you that?” Lisa smirked.
“Nuns know all about ***.” I assured her, “It’s an occupational necessity.”  
.
.
Songs for this piece:
Glamor Girl by Louie Austen
Glitter of the City by Ron Everett
Anthony Kiedis by Remi Wolf
.
.
slang…
Canada = healthier, fitter, more Canadian
chyeah = f*ck yeah.
on God = swearing to God

She was a lovely looking thing,
A beautiful young blonde girl/woman
She hadn't been with us long... at
   work
She was smart and sassy, even a little
   scary
Held strong opinions on some things,
She lived close to where I lived, only
   a few miles away
So I was sitting amongst them one
   day, the girls/the ladies
They were a little bored that day and
   for some sport
Were trying to draw me out, to get me    
   to open up a little
To reveal some more about my ways
   and my life
So I thought I'd have some fun with
   them
I told them I did some painting as a
   hobby
And that my speciality was 'the
   female ****'
But alas! I had a problem, I had no
   one to sit for me
"If only I had some beautiful nymph, some haughty Queen, some dazzling princess", I lamented
And then I'd gaze over at Her, give her
   a longing look,
Then of course, someone upped and
   said the obvious
" Jen....don't you live close to where he lives, would you not go sit for him "
My face it lit up and I smiled
"No! I would not!!! she said
   emphatically, disgusted
Now I knew from the Christmas party
   she liked to drink Gin
So I said enticingly "I'll throw in a
   few bottles of Gin"
"I'd never pose **** for anyone", she replied again emphatically, "it'd be embarrassing, it'd be degrading! Sitting naked before some man!",
" But ", I replied, " you wouldn't be embarrassed sitting for me
'Cos when I paint a **** I insist on
   being in the **** myself as well
So as to make my Sitter feel more at
   home, more at ease
Yeah, Me! I'm very... Avant Garde"
(said with a devilish twinkle in my eye)
Still she resisted my painterly
   charms
So as to further entice her I said
"I'll even cook you breakfast, no one can resist my lovely sizzling sausages".
I felt as though I'd dangled my carrot
   right in her face
But still she wouldn't take the bait.
I suppose I was lucky she hadn't for if
   she had of (agreed)
I would have had to have learnt how
   to paint Nudes real fast
And how to cook sausages and other
   breakfast repast.