Sunday Scribblings, Delicious

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is “delicious.”

Her Cookies

The object of my considerable consternation has decided to follow me home from school.
This is what I get for being nice.
If she was a flavor of ice cream, it would be vanilla, of course. But artificially-flavored ice milk vanilla. She tended to melt into whatever background she stood up against.
Between periods, she got caught up in the great crush of the hallway, spun (thrice) and her books went flying. She sank to her knees, a pebble in a fast-current of students.
I was trailing.
And stopped to help her out, less she get swallowed.
As I handed a spiral-bound notebook back, she ran a warm, dry hand across mine, blew the hair away from her eyes and smiled.
I grabbed the hand and hoisted her to standing.
And walked away.
The notes started immediately. Loopy script with smiley faces dotting the I’s. Straight-forward prose about her life, likes. Odd stuff about dreams.
I. Didn’t. Care.
She was a half-block behind, fighting with a backpack and some foil-wrapped tray – when I quickened my pace. I thought I’d lost her within the Dykman’s hydrangea bushes, but there she was, sitting on my front porch.
She’s got a plate full of the most misshapen, burnt chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever in my life seen. My guess is that she’d not done all that well in home economics this semester.
She thrust the tray at me, looking demurely down at the wooden steps.
My only way in is to accept the offer.
I nab one, take a bite, two. Their dryness makes mastication difficult. I struggle.
She thrusts toward me a pint of skim chocolate milk, obviously pilfered from the cafeteria. I drink, greedily.
My vision grows warm, most colorful.
And she has become the most fetching woman I’d ever seen; swoon fills my heart. My temples, my cheeks, grow flush.
“Those are some pretty awesome cookies,” I say, using my best small-talk voice. “Deliciously crunchy.”
She giggles.
“You think?” she asks. “I fear the orris root oil, deer’s tongue and catnip caused the dough to get much too crisp.”

12 comments:

Catherine Denton said...

So creative. You captured his dread so well and the twist at the end had me laughing.

floreta said...

this is kind of funny. like he's drunk in the end. but they do say the best way to a man's heart is through the kitchen. or something like that. :)

Lucy said...

so cute! Merry Christmas Thom!

and it's through his stomach floreta! haha

oldegg said...

She was so deliciously different I fell in love with her, Orris root and all! Young love is so great to write about.

Americanising Desi said...

may i crunch on ur post and savour the delicious taste?

Delicious Cabaret

Monica Manning said...

Tugged at my heart strings and I loved the twisted ending! Love spells are dangerous magicks...I'd love to read a sequel...

Daily Panic said...

What a crazy twist at the end!

Lilibeth said...

Ha ha. I loved it.

linda may said...

OOOOH Little witch, gotcha.

keiths ramblings said...

This is SO good! Loved it.

missalister said...

Oh, yeah, Thom! Your idea-machine brain is crankin’ these days! Sparks are flying from it and there’s a delicious danger of fire and I’ll be here with my waterless bucket, just relishing the blaze :-D

Dee Martin said...

Dude! Kick her to the curb - she defaced chocolate chip cookies. I could tolerate everything else but NOT that! Holy crow - deer's tongue?? What do you people eat up there LOL?