Portrait Practice: Missy

I hear the freezer door open and slam shut, followed by the shuffling of bowls, and the sliding open of kitchen drawers. Moans. Groans. Growls of frustration. Umm. Is there a bear in my apartment? I tip toe out of my room and see Missy, my roommate, squatting on a dining room chair in the kitchen, and hacking at a frozen block of ice cream with a large butcher knife. She lifts up the knife and begins to lick the ice cream that's stuck on it. I want to remind her that liking sharp objects isn't the safest choice, but decide otherwise when she shifts her gaze toward me. "I haven't done my dishes in a while." she offers (as if somehow that is going to clear up all the questions floating around in my head). "I didn't want to make more of a mess by getting out a bowl and a spoon." I nod my head, acting as if I understand. But really, all I'm thinking about is how much bigger of a mess it'll be when she has to get stitches.