The way she attacked the can of tomato soup was reminiscent of a situation in which a murderer would, even though initially planning to let the poor creature live, accidentally spray its blood all over the room due to certain reflexes and automatisms. A wielding can opener in one hand and a butter knife in the other: the can put up a battle of approximately five minute before submitting to the pan, but not without leaving a fair amount of its contents spilled over the kitchen counter. You’d think it could’ve been easier than that.

Luckily she was one of those girls who looked like she had tried on some orange lipstick and wiped it off after better judgement, and not like she was incapable of eating properly.