Had not seen Eli for nearly a year. I had even magically lost weight
nearish the holidays.
Sadly, the bigger the holiday, the bigger temptation. Christmas being
the supersized holiday of happiness, my heart felt both slippery and
angry as it has in the past, and my serotonin began dipping dangerously.
I slipped Eli a little e-mail note saying, "I miss you. How's your
Eli texted right back, said "Feast me."
And there we were.
His wife had gone to an eggnog and Wii party in Rome. I had been taking
seaweed baths, trying not to think about tasty Christmas
Snickerdoodles, Angel Butter cookies, and Bouche de Noel.
The absence of his skinny bitch wife's has, for the last couple of
years, made it hard for Eli to deny extra helpings of gravy. Perhaps it
is true that extra fat from such a feast strengthens the body against
past or future times of hunger.
"Okay, so what are you wearing?" I asked him on the phone.
"Heavy cream," he said.
"And what are you thinking about?"
"Butter, meat, and nuts," he said. "You?"
"Candied fruits, home made preserves, and roast beef," I said.
"What do you want me to do to you when I get there?" he said. He was
ready to make for one bloated holiday. I felt myself perking.
"I want you to cook. I want you to take me apart and put me back
together. I want to do that to you too. It is Christmas."
Unfortunately, I slept with Eli again. It was as good as potato latkes.
Richer than eggnog. It was roast goose.
- - -
Read MP's story, "Delivery."
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