Imagine, if you will, that you enter a fine dining establishment. You're seated at the nicest table, the most efficient service is at your command, and the menu has exactly what you've been craving. You order the filet mignon - medium rare, with grilled baby asparagus, butternut squash risotto, and a fine shiraz wine pairing. The service is swift, accommodating, and before you know it, your dinner has arrived on a silver platter.
You carve into the filet, take a bite, and fall fast asleep, headfirst into your risotto. The waitstaff rushes over, props your head up to revive you and encourages you to continue eating. They put a cold compress on your head and even remove all of your clothes in order to wake you up. This is what you're here for! To eat the finest food they could provide! But you protest, screaming as loud as you can and push the food away. Perhaps you've forgotten that you are there to eat and that the staff is there to help you along your dining experience. But eventually you concede that you are hungry and begin eating, only this time you put the fork in your mouth in a really uncomfortable way - except that in this scenario it hurts the fork more than it hurts you.
Sound weird? Not when it's a metaphor for how Abbey eats.