Recently, I’ve been trying my hands on prose and guess what. . .it feels rosy, but you might have another opinion. This was one of the pieces I wrote for a writing challenge on Facebook, others to come up soon.
Read, and tell me what you felt.
“If you want to woo a man, cook him a good meal.” Kate would always reiterate whilst her hands were caught busy juggling between kitchen chores and adult-sitting me. She just never told me the way to a woman’s heart. I guess that was my expedition.
With the aroma of a sumptuous meal comes the sliminess within, an entrant being prepared in the most gracious place in the house – the kitchen. I had spent half the hour caressing the TV remote in wait as I salivated and tried to endure for the pleasure I was to make myself receptive to. The meal? It just had to happen.
Taking a leap of faith after watching Kate exit the gracious chamber, I sauntered in, peeped back to listen for her diminishing steps that indicated she wasn’t anywhere close. Perfect timing! The aroma in here was so enthralling that for a while I would say I managed to fill my belly with just enough, but enough of that couldn’t stop fueling my hunger for the real deal, so I reached for the pot.
It was sultry, but it was spaghetti, even the kitchen was overwhelmed in it’s warmth. I had not tasted yet, but it was delicious. Darn! Reaching for a fork from the shelf below I smothered the clinging sounds that were sure to come off my frantic search by using the orange and white check napkin mum had me take around (it never really served a purpose since I stopped sneezing, allergy reaction, but today I was grateful I had it with me).
I paused to listen for Kate again (she always had her elderly instinct working for her during my breakthrough moments and it wasn’t funny), but she was not to be heard this time, perhaps because she was done already. “I love you Jesus,” was ringing in my thoughts as I pitched my fork into the near abyss – spaghetti, turning it to the right to have a good stretch and withdrawing it to mid air to make it’s content slide into my mouth with my inward pull of air.
“Veeery good! You’re doing well.” The voice could not be mismatched. My sister, Kate, had always tried it in her pranks when she snoops in during my escapades but I could tell and she would just dish me some to carry on (I always stood on her neck till she did). Not this time, my hands froze as panic looked me in the eye and spoke in a convulsing torment, it was mum. I knew at the moment that I needed spanking, but I got a pat that set my heart racing. “Go ahead, continue pulling, when you’re done meet me in the room.”
On hearing her resolution, I couldn’t stut a greeting nor a plea, I gulped the last straw and watched as she strutted through to the backyard. I needed to woo her, but how? Kate never said.
“I’m to meet her upstairs now. How do I woo mum?”
Lemme hear how in the comment section below.