The Satisfaction of Aunt Margie’s Tummy
Fruit jelly, choux pastry, short crust or flaky, with sugar loaf rose petal or pistachio icing, they all laid on a silver tray on her lap, almost floating in the tulle and taffetas of her gigantic pink dress. Her plump fingers feigned to hesitate between all of those marvels, as if she would be choosy, as if there could be one she would not like and refuse to gulp. Her voluminous platinum curls nodded with satisfaction, around her large, heavily made up face as she chewed carefully, the better to concentrate on the next one she would swallow. She stopped dead.
The thin grey uniformed silhouette of her tiny nephew was standing across the tea table, his eyes the color and shape of chocolate coated almonds intent on the trick of disappearing pastry. Confectioner’s sugar punctured her lips. It seemed to match the coarse rice powder she used and that shone brightly on her bleached moustache. She broke into a smile, and said in her girly, high pitched voice:
“Do you know what is so amazing about pastry, little Henry?” She paused to annihilate a miniature frosted cream puff. An overgrown pink chameleon. When she opened her mouth again, little Henry noticed that a lot of it was still lingering on her tongue. “Well, I’ll tell you what it is. You see, Aunt Margie has had many a man in her life. Yes she did!” she insisted tenderly as he raised his incredulous eyebrows. And then she looked aside with the most pitiful expression little Henry had ever seen on a pink chameleon. “But she was never really pleased. Men are rough, little Henry, and they are not to be trusted. They can give a lot, but they’ll take even more from you.” A grin lighted her face again. “But pastry, little Henry, creamy, sugary, intensely flavored pastry…” She caressed the remaining edible gems with feverish adoration. “Pastry makes me feel good, it satisfies my tummy. And there is nothing like the satisfaction of Aunt Margie’s tummy!” she concluded triumphantly, while holding out the tray to him.
But little Henry never cared for men, so he did not understand why he should be threatened with pastry, and just ran away.
“Cotton candy Christ, the child must be sick!” aunt Margie said to herself.
And her fat hand ambushed on a mazarin.
The thin grey uniformed silhouette of her tiny nephew was standing across the tea table, his eyes the color and shape of chocolate coated almonds intent on the trick of disappearing pastry. Confectioner’s sugar punctured her lips. It seemed to match the coarse rice powder she used and that shone brightly on her bleached moustache. She broke into a smile, and said in her girly, high pitched voice:
“Do you know what is so amazing about pastry, little Henry?” She paused to annihilate a miniature frosted cream puff. An overgrown pink chameleon. When she opened her mouth again, little Henry noticed that a lot of it was still lingering on her tongue. “Well, I’ll tell you what it is. You see, Aunt Margie has had many a man in her life. Yes she did!” she insisted tenderly as he raised his incredulous eyebrows. And then she looked aside with the most pitiful expression little Henry had ever seen on a pink chameleon. “But she was never really pleased. Men are rough, little Henry, and they are not to be trusted. They can give a lot, but they’ll take even more from you.” A grin lighted her face again. “But pastry, little Henry, creamy, sugary, intensely flavored pastry…” She caressed the remaining edible gems with feverish adoration. “Pastry makes me feel good, it satisfies my tummy. And there is nothing like the satisfaction of Aunt Margie’s tummy!” she concluded triumphantly, while holding out the tray to him.
But little Henry never cared for men, so he did not understand why he should be threatened with pastry, and just ran away.
“Cotton candy Christ, the child must be sick!” aunt Margie said to herself.
And her fat hand ambushed on a mazarin.
posted by MrT at 16:43
9 Comments:
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Now this is an intriguing, baffling and beguiling piece. Put simply, I loved it. Especially that wonderful sentence: "And then she looked aside with the most pitiful expression little Henry had ever seen on a pink chameleon." Just thought I'd sneak in before the robots took over. Sorry about those two previous deletions; I accidentally omitted an important word in the first instance, then forgot to correct it in the second.
Thank you, MrHugh. I must admit that when I saw 5 mails warning me of comments from you, I thought you were subblogging on my blog. But anyway, eying "3 comments" on my latest post, and "15 ..." on the previous is flattery to MrT. Muhahaha. Well, except for robots. Grrrrr.
We'll soon fix them.
Oh and what the hell is subblogging?
Oh, and yes, indeed:
ERRATUM
The appelation "robots" for automated advertising comments and blogs was originally used by MrBen a.k.a Yodo.
Gnac. (which is not supposed to mean anything, do not tell me this is an Australian insult...)
Subblogging is a freshly made up word meaning to post long real blog-like entries into somebody else's blog's comment section. This is a very awkward definition, for an ugly silly word.
Ah but Ben, the fact that robot implies a physical form is the best bit. We need to give our enemy a face! And what do you mean "stole"? You dubbed them thus yourself.
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