The words over at Three Word Wednesday are generate, meager and tease.
He gazes at his curved reflection on the spoon, studying his face in the convex bulge and idly thinking of the “Where’s Waldo” character, the funny watch cap, the creepy striped sweater.
He lifts a lip to study his rather sharp right incisor, trying to generate enough forward motion to propel himself past the spoon, away from idle thoughts and back into the present.
“Are you even listening to me?”
Oh, she’s still there. Right. Act natural, smile. Give her all the pearly whites.
“Every single word.”
He says it as a tease, cocks his head playfully, rumples his shoulders in a play that says “I am now yours, receptive.”
Her face is a blank canvas, he thinks. Void of emotional paint; even her lips – he finds them painfully meager – form a straight line of ordinary.
He breaths deeply, ends with a slight cough, readying her for more witty banter.
“You were describing your co-worker’s dilemma, her finding the boss furiously masturbating early one morning in the conference room?”
Wait, that can’t be right, can it?
Her face registers shock, horror. He studies her for a moment, but is drawn back to his image on the spoon. His nose looks so huge, textured.
And drifts off thinking about puppies, why science hasn’t yet found a way to keep them from growing up when she hits him with her napkin as she passes. It ends up draped over the spoon, silencing again his consciousness streaming.
“Fuck you, creep.”
“Yes, my dear, I’ll be happy to get the check.”
He says this while gesturing in slight movements with the little spoon-and-napkin puppet she’s inadvertently created.