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November 10, 2005

I Am Gradually Seducing My Neighbor

I am gradually seducing my upstairs neighbor by cooking up lovely pans of garlic, peppers and eggs, and placing them under the fan in the wall that leads upstairs, the one that filters into her quiet living room. I do not eat the meal, but only let it sit and cool. Often, it is quite cheesy.

I know she sits quietly and expectantly every evening, there, on her green velvet couch. I know she keeps her eyes closed, and gently samples sniff after tentative sniff. Each day I make my gestures of reverence. I speak to her in the language of peppery buttery linguini; in the tongue of tart raspberry jam over hot corn bread; in the lexicon of baked butternut squash and cinnamon.

As I cook, fluff, simmer, or fry each dish, I think of her, waiting. I move quickly, but not so quickly that the recipe is compromised. I know she would expect nothing less. I know she values my dedication to quality, and I know she wipes a tear from her eye as I shuffle across the floor underneath her, carefully navigating my hot pan of marinara under the vents. I bake for hours, simply for those ten or fifteen minutes it takes a pan of cookies to cool down and send chocolatey oatmeal ribbons of scent upward, toward the sky, toward heaven, toward Mrs. Woo.

SUPERMILK is an expert Squeezer of Lemon, Thumber of Nose, and Navigator of Moronity. His mark can be found on the Bedpan of Hammurabi, the forehead of Dagonet, and the office stationery of Jorge Bourgoise. Additionally, he approved this boatload of kielbasa for export at 10:29 PM| (1)