MARCH, 2023
ILLARIA
So he ran out that night and I tried to make peace with it but his meditation practice began to evolve. He began to draw faces on his meditation potatoes. In the 1950’s Mr. Potato Head was done with actual potatoes and plastic accessories to add facial features, hands feet, even hats. He found those from various sellers online.
Then he decided it would be more conducive to his practice to make the potato look female. He glued brown yarn to the potatoe’s head, gave her long eyelashes and put lipstick on her plastic lips to create this feminized spud. And he gave her a name: Arlene.
And he didn’t stop at Arlene. He created a whole collection of meditation potatoes. There was Jennifer and Rachel and Frannie and Charlene and … oh I stopped trying to remember all the names in my husbands potato harem.
Hanukkah came around and while my husband was out, I decided to make Latkes. Goodbye potato mistresses! I removed their plastic appendages then I Skinned them, I shredded them, and dropped them into boiling hot hot oil. Ohhh yesssss!!!! My husband sits down to dinner. His eyes grow wide. “Latkes! My favorite! This must have taken you hours. You shouldn’t have!” I’m like “Oh, I just couldn’t help myself. I know how much you love potatoes. And I just thought: its Hanukkah. You deserve to feast on your special potatoes that you love so much.” He mumbled “thank you” as he scarfed them down and after he pats his full full belly and says “wow. amazing. you know how I’d like to show my appreciation? ” he looks at me so sweetly and for a moment I felt a pang of regret and then he says “by meditating. when I meditate I feel so much love for all beings. and I know that when I’m my best self it makes everyone around me happy. I bet its thanks to the great mood I’m in from meditating that you felt so inspired that you made me this incredible dinner. Am I right?” “oh yes dear, I say, you’ve never been righter.” Then he exited to the study.
For a moment: silence. Then he emerges looking confused. "Where are my meditation potatoes?" he asks. “Why, you ate them” I say. He breaks into a sort of coughing gagging fit that ends in quiet sobbing. “Are you ok?” I ask. He looks at me, like a scared, lost child and utters one word: “why?” I answer: “Because its Hanukkah.” His pupils seem to lose focus.
“But I spent hours making each of those potatoes perfect. they were irreplaceable. I was going to cover them in a special shellac to preserve them. Did you cook all of them?” I nod. “Even Arlene?” he asks. “Even Arlene” I say solemnly. I thought he would yell or be angry but he just looked sort of pathetic. Broken.
“I feel a little dizzy like I might pass out” he said. “Why don’t we go to the supermarket” I say. I show him the bucket of plastic appendages. He lets out a whimper. “You can rebuild.” He nods. He follows me to the car. I drive us there. We get a carry basket and pick up a few things we need and he picks out a ten pound bag of potatoes. “I think we need more,” I say. “If we had forty pounds of potatoes just imagine how much love you’d feel all around you.” I take each bag off the shelf and put it in his arms. As we head toward the check out line I look over at my husband and I can’t help but let out a little laugh. “Your arms are shaking dear. Here.” I slip the car keys in his pocket and say “I’ll check out and pay for those and everything else. You take those to the car.”
At the checkout line I put the few things down I have in my basket. The cashier asks me “is that everything?” I look over at my husband exiting the grocery. “Yes this is everything” I say and then I point at my husband “i think that man is stealing potatoes”. The cashier gets on the phone by the register and the next thing I know a bigger guy at the front of the store is tackling my husband. I slip out quietly and get an Uber home.
So here I am. With you.
(Takes out a feminized potato from her purse)
Arlene.
CONTINUE READING HERE.
ILLARIA
So he ran out that night and I tried to make peace with it but his meditation practice began to evolve. He began to draw faces on his meditation potatoes. In the 1950’s Mr. Potato Head was done with actual potatoes and plastic accessories to add facial features, hands feet, even hats. He found those from various sellers online.
Then he decided it would be more conducive to his practice to make the potato look female. He glued brown yarn to the potatoe’s head, gave her long eyelashes and put lipstick on her plastic lips to create this feminized spud. And he gave her a name: Arlene.
And he didn’t stop at Arlene. He created a whole collection of meditation potatoes. There was Jennifer and Rachel and Frannie and Charlene and … oh I stopped trying to remember all the names in my husbands potato harem.
Hanukkah came around and while my husband was out, I decided to make Latkes. Goodbye potato mistresses! I removed their plastic appendages then I Skinned them, I shredded them, and dropped them into boiling hot hot oil. Ohhh yesssss!!!! My husband sits down to dinner. His eyes grow wide. “Latkes! My favorite! This must have taken you hours. You shouldn’t have!” I’m like “Oh, I just couldn’t help myself. I know how much you love potatoes. And I just thought: its Hanukkah. You deserve to feast on your special potatoes that you love so much.” He mumbled “thank you” as he scarfed them down and after he pats his full full belly and says “wow. amazing. you know how I’d like to show my appreciation? ” he looks at me so sweetly and for a moment I felt a pang of regret and then he says “by meditating. when I meditate I feel so much love for all beings. and I know that when I’m my best self it makes everyone around me happy. I bet its thanks to the great mood I’m in from meditating that you felt so inspired that you made me this incredible dinner. Am I right?” “oh yes dear, I say, you’ve never been righter.” Then he exited to the study.
For a moment: silence. Then he emerges looking confused. "Where are my meditation potatoes?" he asks. “Why, you ate them” I say. He breaks into a sort of coughing gagging fit that ends in quiet sobbing. “Are you ok?” I ask. He looks at me, like a scared, lost child and utters one word: “why?” I answer: “Because its Hanukkah.” His pupils seem to lose focus.
“But I spent hours making each of those potatoes perfect. they were irreplaceable. I was going to cover them in a special shellac to preserve them. Did you cook all of them?” I nod. “Even Arlene?” he asks. “Even Arlene” I say solemnly. I thought he would yell or be angry but he just looked sort of pathetic. Broken.
“I feel a little dizzy like I might pass out” he said. “Why don’t we go to the supermarket” I say. I show him the bucket of plastic appendages. He lets out a whimper. “You can rebuild.” He nods. He follows me to the car. I drive us there. We get a carry basket and pick up a few things we need and he picks out a ten pound bag of potatoes. “I think we need more,” I say. “If we had forty pounds of potatoes just imagine how much love you’d feel all around you.” I take each bag off the shelf and put it in his arms. As we head toward the check out line I look over at my husband and I can’t help but let out a little laugh. “Your arms are shaking dear. Here.” I slip the car keys in his pocket and say “I’ll check out and pay for those and everything else. You take those to the car.”
At the checkout line I put the few things down I have in my basket. The cashier asks me “is that everything?” I look over at my husband exiting the grocery. “Yes this is everything” I say and then I point at my husband “i think that man is stealing potatoes”. The cashier gets on the phone by the register and the next thing I know a bigger guy at the front of the store is tackling my husband. I slip out quietly and get an Uber home.
So here I am. With you.
(Takes out a feminized potato from her purse)
Arlene.
CONTINUE READING HERE.
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