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AUGUST 2012 -
SEXY X2
MAGAZINE -
47
of breakfast that she is preparing
what brings me back form the
world of dreams to the real world
where she is my shaft and I am her
support.
There is always a sweet aroma of
coffee, toast and eggs when she
gets up first in the morning. For
my breakfast, she uses Italian-style,
white, toasted bread with butter
and cooks some eggs with a small
amount of olive oil. It was a difficult
task for me to convince her that I
prefer olive oil for my frying eggs
instead of butter.
Because of my size my breakfast is
never light, nor small.
During the early days of our mar-
riage, she very delicately, placed
in front of me what I considered
little less than the serving size for
a baby. Arleen served to me the
same amount of food that she
served to herself.
At first, I did not say anything to
her, but when my hunger started to
increase considerably, I had to ex-
plain, using the analogy of the dif-
ferent amount of fuel consumed by
a small car and by a truck to travel
the same distance, that my ana-
tomical proportions require much
more food than hers. She laughed
a lot at my explanation and inge-
nuity, and from that moment on, I
never suffered again shortages on
my plate.
We both like cooking. She always
says that I exaggerate everything,
and that, of course, includes what
I cook. Honestly, I find it difficult to
think in small. It must be hereditary
since my grandfather was also well-
known for being exaggerated with
food. He said that at his house
there had to be plenty of food;
it should never be just enough or
little.
My pasta sauce and my roasted
meats have gained the status of
national pride within my concepts,
and although I do not say it open-
ly, I think that nobody in the world
does those things better than me.
I love to prepare barbecue, to grill
the meat, to consider how much
fire and heat are needed for the
meat to be cooked to perfection. I
also enjoy the moment by drinking
a glass of wine or beer if it is a hot
day.
For me it is priceless to see my
friends and my family together,
enjoying a weekend day by the in-
viting smoke of a good barbecue.
But to see my wife coming closer,
to feel her taking my arm, or trying
to hold me by embracing my waist
with her arms, while she looks at
me and tries to steal me a kiss,
makes that moment eternal and
sublime.
Christina runs all over the yard,
coming in and out of the house
through the French window that I
myself installed.
She always says that her daddy’s
barbecues are the best in the
world. . . and I believe her.
What day is today? What day is
today? Saturday, today is Saturday.
Lately, I tend to confuse things…
and this sensation of not feeling my
legs, and at the same time feeling
as if I had two concrete blocks
instead…
Arleen, I know she is coming to
wake me up, I can hear her foot-
steps approaching the bedroom.
I do not need to open my eyes to
recognize the weekend ritual when
she brings a coffee to my bed. I
can smell the coffee from here now
and will wait until she talks to me
to get out of this dream and open
my eyes and see her, and feel that
today I can love her even more
than yesterday.
-
Dad… dad
-
Arleen?
-
No, dad. It’s me
-
Christina?
-
Yes dad. As far as I know
you have only one daughter, and
I’m that daughter _ (Christina
cheerful laughs) Are you going to
wake up, sleepyhead? I have your
breakfast and your wheelchair
ready. It is a wonderful day and
your three grandchildren seem as if
they had gotten new batteries.
-
Where is your mother?
-
Daddy, mom has died. She
has gone many years ago.
-
Now I remember it… it’s ok
Arleen, do not let the coffee get
cold, because I will soon go to
have breakfast with you.