Jennifer was close.  She could feel it as her whole body tensed in anticipation.  Yes, she thought, finally, oh yes, oh god here we go…  ‘fuckity, fuck, fuck!’ … she cursed as she felt that insatiable tingle in her nose subside.  Would it ever come?  To sneeze is to live, thought Jennifer, as she blew a large amount of snot out of her nose.

After calling in sick that morning Jennifer could not have guess she would have embarked upon this most frustrating of journeys towards a sneeze that appeared would never come.

Currently it was 12.42pm. Jennifer stared deeply into the pale soup which had begun to bubble on the stove.  Crap it, a soup boiled is a soup spoiled, she thought, and she turned the down the heat.  She was beginning to despair. ‘First the sneeze, now the soup, what next?’ She lamented out loud.

Poor old Jennifer, between the soup and the sneeze she was having a rather rough time of it.  Until… there it was again.  That familiar nasal sensation.  She gripped the wooden spoon she had been using to stir the soup and prayed for release.  It started small, a delicate tickle.  She twitched her nose to assess the state of play.  ‘Oh god!’ She quivered as her whole body coursed with a warm stirring of adrenaline.  Her pulse quickened as a rousing tingle spread throughout her body.  She took in two involuntary sharp breaths, preparing for the ensuing burst of pleasure.

Her right hand curled towards her face, incidentally smoothing a little chicken and mushroom soup from the wooden spoon onto her cheek, and her left hand grasped the counter top, bracing for that final moment of euphoria.  Her eyes rolled back into her head, she gasped down two more lung-fulls of air.

‘Ahhhhhhh, fuckity, fucking, fuck.  You fucking twatting, cock muncher.  FUCK YOU!!!!’ She screamed, one can only imagine, at her nose, for as soon as that sneeze had appeared, it had crept back down her nasal passage, the cheeky little thing.

But it was only 12.44, so there was still time.  Mind you, I don’t think Jennifer saw it that way, for in her fit of rage she had punched the saucepan of soup off the stove.

Now it wasn’t just the confounded sneeze and the boiled soup; Jennifer could add burnt knuckle and soupy floor to her list of woes.  If she had felt despairing before, she was wrong to do so.