She placed the pie in front of me. I silently bit in w/o saying proper thanks.
Yeah, sure I felt grateful, but I hated her too. Here I was getting fat and I wanted sex, but all she did was feed me like an Italian Mother or a Jewish Mother or like Iocasta.
We no longer spoke words. We said I love you through the kitchen table. She made soufflé, pumpkin pie, Creme Bruleé, prime rib, filet mignon, poulet orange, linguine with white clams, matzo ball soup, chicken in the pot, Baked Alaska, Baked Jew. She was the Nazi Queen fattening me up for the slaughter.
Oh I could be fucking her ass, America. Riding her like a pony, America. She would have said thank you with sarsaparilla and salmonella but, I ate and the bitch begged and how easy I could torture her.
Yes I could always burn my napkin in protest and fling cream of spinach and potato or onion soup gratineé at the windows.
I hated her. I wanted her shot by firing squad. Line her up against the Sam's Club, and tell her that the People's Republic in order to preserve democracy has ordered her exterminated.
So she rationed the food, and I stood in bread lines for thirty years. I starved and bloated from emaciation. So she dropped bags of grain on my head. Then came the Quaker Oats(with Benjamin Franklin's smirk on the label) and shredded wheat and rice cakes and spam.
She and I said finally that enough was enough and agreed to split. She cooks now and no one eats. The food just sits in piles and rots. Peach cobbler, chocolate mousse, cheeseburgers, curried dishes, egg rolls, Chicken Lo Mein, Kung Pao Chicken; serving Mao was her dream. Her feet are bound and she is still quiet.
I eat much lighter fare now. I've lost weight. I smile more. I fuck like a rabbit instead of eat like a pig. I don't see her much anymore.
I think she is strange, America.