Mes petits trésors, voici ce qui ce passe:
I tried so hard to make this post more serious, so that you may understand that I do more in life than contemplate my next source of spit-swappage. But alas, my brain is so cramped from attempting college essays that it is obstructed. I have tried in vain to inundate it with various forms of mental ex-lax (Russian literature, my favorite cookbooks, The West Wing, and dinner parties), but it’s no go, if you know what I mean. So then I changed my tact, and waited for an event of notable hilarity to befall me. Considering that I haven’t written in a week, you can only imagine how well that worked out. So, a rather idiotic recounting of mes derniers jours:
My finger has withered into a necrotic stump. Oh yes, where once it was round, now it is square. I wonder if human extremities have the same regenerative powers as lizard tales? Will it grow back, or will I forever have un doigt plat? Who knows?
I remembered how much I hate the following sayings:
I’ve realized the following: I have no game. The concept of flipping hair and batting eyelashes, of mascara and nice clothes, escapes me. The art of seduction is one that I am good at in the most unconventional sense, and quite by accident. Because as I said, I have no game. But, apparently, I have no game to such an extent that it bypasses lameness and falls squarely into the realm of endearment. Weird, I know. Rien n’est simple pour moi.
I bought some new playthings: two Alice Waters cookbooks (which usually act as a mental stimulus for me) and a vintage Le Creuset pan that I scored on ebay (thrifty Jew skills being in my genetic repertoire, and all. But I got the schnoz too, in case you’re wondering. No good trait goes unpunished!) Did you know that schnoz is a real word, recognized by spellcheck even? Awesome!
When I received said “flame” enameled pan, who should be at the post office but my lovely cooking companion? Eh oui. He is sandy brown and golden delicious, and I should probably marry him and have some beige babies tout de suite! Here is why:
1) When I got to work a few days later, he remembered my pan, and asked me if I’d cooked anything in it. You see? He and I play well in the sandbox together. He is a dear X a million, and possibly the only human being who doesn’t think I’m freakish for collecting pots and pans!
2) When I let down my hair, he told me it looked particularly beautiful. I blush… or is that my wretched Rosacea?
3) In my infinite wisdom, I wore a turtleneck to work. It took about five minutes for all that woolly goodness to kick in, and then I became radioactively red. As usual, he and I were bantering across the bar. When I felt the heat creep up my face I exclaimed, surprisingly: “I don’t know why I’m so hot.” Another of the kitchen staff countered that: “it’s because he’s here.” Oh Lord God! I had to excuse myself while, in a superhuman feat, I turned even more red.
4) This was followed by a story about how he got into the Guinness Book of World Records on the basis of having the largest (hand motion to indicate penile region) in the world. This one I will not deign to comment about. If the infantile efforts of the kitchen to get us together aren’t arrested immediately, I suppose I shall have to punch somebody.
5) At family meal, he asked permission to sit with me (as he always does), and when I crossed my legs he commented that my shoes were quite spectacular (they are new, and he is right.) He also mentioned that he took my advice on making the restaurant’s ratatouille with less oil while I was in New York, and that he found it superior… And that he had wished I was there to try his creation. I am in love!
6) Last night, I didn’t get to sit down to dinner, and we were both distraught. He’d made ratatouille, and I performed my honorary taste test before he went home, as is my custom. And then he popped the question, and I gave him my number. The time had come. He has invited me to jaunt over for a ratatouille session, a sort of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours!” As an educational experience, bien sur!
This can lead nowhere good. J’ai peur!
does word have a spell check program | Digg hot tags said...
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12/10/08 8:40 PM | Comment Link