I licked the spoon that stirred the rice last night. It sounds like a song, “I licked the spoon, that stirred the rice, that fed the man that doesn’t care how fat I am…” It was delicious even though it was just the bits that get stuck to the bottom of the pan. Not really even a grain of a rice but more the essence. At dinner, he cuts the chicken, gives me the biggest piece. “Since you’re not having, umm, ya know, anything good.” He is hooked on the stuff as well. We fell in love over a bag of frozen peanut M&M’s and a loaf of bread after he cooked me French fries for dinner. “You know I think you’re beautiful,” he says. Then, since he was married for a long time to someone else and is acutely aware of the possible landmines, he adds, “You are beautiful, it’s not just my opinion.”
When I look at him, into those big, green eyes, I see myself me how he sees me. I like it. I hope someday to see what he sees through my own eyes.