My favorite thing to study is Literature. I don't have a preference as to when, where or by whom it was written. This includes both poetry and prose. I love it all. Luckily for me this works well with the fact that I am working on becoming an English Major. There is, however, one class I have shied away from in the past. That class is Women's Literature. "But why?" I hear people calling from the cheap seats. I will tell you why, Readers. I really have a low tolerance for people who are intolerant. "A-hahaha," I hear you calling, "That is a good one, intolerant of intolerance." It's true. Perhaps my least favorite form of intolerance comes in the form of the angry feminist. Everything that women deal is Men's fault. Everything a man says or does is some how rude and degrading.
This is what I was wary of. However, I decided that it was high time to expand my literary knowledge and take a literature course focused on woman writers. The very first day I could tell that I was going to enjoy the class. The professor, much to my relief, is not an angry feminist, or if she is she keeps it hidden well so that her students can form their own opinions.
Like with every class, this one is full of interesting people. Probably the most interesting is the woman who has chosen to sit by/near me.
She really is a lovely lady. Perhaps a bit loud, but who isn't from time to time. Everyone knows that person who has a problem with the concept of whispering. This is her.
Readers, there are somethings I just cannot stand. Some things make me so angry I just want to throw bricks through windows. I have learned to deal with these things.
One of those things, however, is the sound of chewing. It's not fair, I know. People need to eat. But the sound of chewing drives me to a near homicidal rage. It is only made worse when that person is chewing ice. I am 90% positive that is all this woman brings in her large cup. There's no liquid in there. Just ice. That she wants to crunch. Right at my elbow.
Now, before I go on, I want to give you a short history lesson. 
This is Sylvia Plath. You may be most familiar with her book The Bell Jar. What you may or may not know about her is that she was suicidal for the majority of her life, this eventually was the cause of her death. Her sorrow is evident in her works, as is to be expected from a writer feeling any strong emotion. We read a poem by her titled "Lady Lazarus" in my Women's Literature class, which I have linked there. This poem is about her suicide attempts and how people treat her because of it. This was a very controversial poem when it was published and probably would be today as well, due to some of the themes she uses to get her point across.
I told you that story so that I could tell you this one. We read her poem aloud in class, and then were charged with figuring out just what it was the poet was attempting to get across. Perhaps one of my favorite poetic analysis moments as a student comes from this. We were on the stanza, "The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?/The sour breath/Will vanish in a day" (lines 13-15). "What is she talking about?" We were asked. Though some of us in the class knew what we thought the answer was we stayed quiet, not wanting to be mocked for our wrong answer. My Ice Crunching neighbor didn't seem to have this hesitation, however. She looks from the poem, up to the professor and boldly proclaimed, "She drunk." It took all of my will power to hold in my laugh. Not because I thought her answer was foolish. No. Because it was so simple. So true to life. Why would your breath be sour? You were drinking all night. It'll pass.
If I get to hear more brilliantly simple ideas as to what the literature is saying, I have no problem listening to ice crunching.
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