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I put on my favorite apron, the one that fits perfectly to my curves while I cook... but today there will be no ordinary recipe. As I move through the kitchen, I feel something strange brushing against my skin—a little intruder has been spying on me from my apron pocket the entire time. I pull it out with my delicate fingers, watching it wriggle between my thumb and forefinger. So vulnerable, so small, I let it fall to the back of my mouth, feel it fight against my walls as I swallow slowly, deliberately.