Like this, only plastic.
He takes it everywhere for a while, then seems to forget about it. A year or so later I find it in the back of my car. I take it inside and put it somewhere, intending to hang on to it for sentimental reasons. Months later, Jude asks about the plastic donut. At first I feign ignorance, but he persists in asking. Finally I mumble something about "I'll look in the car". Because my memory only functions at the most basic levels, I truly believe it's in the car somewhere. Of course it isn't. I then become convinced that I've taken it to work and stashed it in a drawer. As soon as Jude becomes aware of this, and is also informed that at work I also have his Captain Kirk action figure, about four hotwheels cars and a stuffed swan, he demands their return. In replacement, he offers me a wooden top that I bought for him in Strasborg, France and with which he has never played. I ransack my desk and files at work, and search the house from floor to ceiling. I give up. One day, Jude finds the plastic donut. Under the lip of a dish I dump my wallet and keys into. Every day. Now he offers the plastic donut along with other inedible depictions of fruits, vegetables, burgers and fries, at his restaurant in the basement, where the service is fast and courteous, and the food is always taste-free.
No comments:
Post a Comment