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A woman in a white bonnet and red dress sits at a table praying over a simple meal of bread and soup, her face lit softly by candlelight, while a small cat reaches up toward the food.

Cold Spots in a Hot Meal

You trusted the process. You stirred halfway. You believed in progress. Yet here you are, biting into thermal betrayal.


The Annoyance

Cold spots remind you that control is an illusion. Machines conspire in silence. Every meal is a lottery of heat and hope.


The Absurd Diagnosis

Thermal Faith Syndrome. Symptoms include false optimism, circular stirring rituals, and denial of internal frost.


A Low-Key Cure

Let the food rest. Acceptance is the final stage of warming. Perfection is for recipes, not humans.


The Witty Insight

Some things will never heat evenly—soup, relationships, existential purpose. The trick is to chew fast and move on.


Conclusion

You survive. The meal doesn’t. Tomorrow you’ll try again, armed with slow fashion, emotional armor, and slightly more patience than your microwave.

Sick of life's tiny curses?

Talking to the Attending is the perfect remedy.

Summon the Attending
Dose yourself.