A Most Delicious Meal
By Jon Brunette
Like a master chef, I put the roast on the table, threw my arms out proudly in a new display of triumph, and sat by my wife. Although we didn’t have a lot of money, we’d eat well, finally, like everyone should. Covered in a thick honey sauce, the meat sat in the silver pan with its body curled over pudgy legs, which had a nice yellow tint, and frontal limbs that were equally plump. A bushel of celery lay by its feet, like the carrots that blanketed the entire tray. Carefully, I scooped the food out, onto two plates.
My wife inquired, “Should we have another baby?” Before I filled her glass with wine, I splashed purple liquid into my goblet. The cheap bouquet smelled earthy, with just a light sting of alcohol. We both licked our lips in anticipation.
“Was that a question or a comment?” With the knife, I sliced the rump, and laid a tender piece onto her plate, to join the vegetables below her eyes. A dabble of honey finished the meal. While I began to eat, my bride told me what she meant.
Showing a lot of teeth, she said, “What would you do if I got pregnant, and we–you and I–had another baby?” She poked her meat playfully. “Neither of us liked the tantrums that our first baby threw, but we did like the presence of the baby.” With eyebrows lifted, she said, “Didn’t we?”
Chewing heartily, I said as though I’d hoped she’d get pregnant like she’d gotten thirteen months ago, “Sure we did–we both did.” I swallowed loudly, enjoying our feast. “Besides,” I added, “our next baby should taste just as delicious as this one does.” My lovely bride nodded happily; so did I.
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