The white hoodie drawstring that dipped into the boiling red oil broth while eating noodles outside

When eating beef noodles or mala tang, people wearing hoodies are always dancing with death. When that huge bowl, covered in a thick layer of red oil and steaming hot, is placed on the table, hunger instantly paralyzes all safety awareness. I picked up my chopsticks, leaned forward slightly, and was about to slurp the first mouthful of noodles soaked in broth, completely immersed in the bliss of food. In the very moment I lowered my head, the two white cotton drawstrings that were hanging innocently on my chest, due to gravitational acceleration, silently slid forward. By the time my peripheral vision sensed something was wrong, it was already too late. The end of the right drawstring, about fifteen centimeters long, was precisely submerged in the bright red, oily broth at an extremely proper, elegant, and vertical angle. The metal tip even sank firmly to the bottom of the bowl like an anchor, having absorbed the essence of beef fat, Sichuan peppercorns, and chili bean paste. The pure white cotton thread exhibited extreme capillary action, visible to the naked eye. The orange-red oil stain raced upwards along the fibers, dyeing a full five centimeters red within two seconds. When I hastily reached out to pull it out, the scalding cotton string dangled in the air, even splashing three extremely conspicuous dark red dots onto my freshly washed light gray cotton pants. The aroma of the entire bowl of noodles instantly turned sour. I grabbed the oily string with tissues, my hands becoming greasy, and the rich beef oil smell emanating from it would accompany me for the rest of the afternoon. At that moment, I just wanted to take scissors and physically erase this piece of clothing from existence.