the fur paralysis

The performance of insisting a painfully hot curry is merely 'quite nice'.

The last remaining poppadom whose ownership becomes a delicate social negotiation.

A suffocating, enclosed quiet where two people stare intensely at the floor numbers rather than acknowledging each other's existence.

A physics-defying catastrophe where the stickiest, most absorbent part of a breakfast item violently meets a filthy rug.