Female Monologue:
The Metta Tater (Part 1)
By Gabriel Davis
JANUARY, 2022
ILLARIA
I tried to destroy my husband’s life. Because he started meditating. With a potato. I tried to destroy his life because I thought it was weird to meditate with a potato. And also because I was jealous of the potato.
See my husband has always meditated, but the issue in our marriage started when he was trying to get into this certain type of meditation called loving kindness meditation.
Loving kindness meditation is where you try to evoke feelings of safety and comfort and friendliness and love toward yourself and others. My husband was struggling with it and his meditation teacher asked him: what do you love most in the world?
And his answer wasn’t “my wife” it was “potatoes.”
When my husband first told me this, I asked him to please explain himself and he said:
“Well you know, I grew up in Idaho, on a potato farm. Mom would make these wonderful meals with potatoes as the centerpiece. Dad made us potato guns to play with in the backyard. We had potato sack races. When I think about potatoes, tHat’s my happy place. You know?”
I didn’t know. I intellectually understood it. But seeing him there in our study on his cushion. Holding a potato, looking lovingly at a potato. I felt like … that’s how I want him to look at me. I want him to look at me the way he looks at the potato.
So one day, I cooked all the potatoes in the house, made a giant shepherds pie, and gave it to a local homeless shelter. When it was my husband’s time to meditate and he couldn’t find his potatoes, I told him I wanted to share the happiness of potatoes with the homeless. He was touched by my generosity, but also worried. How would he do his loving kindness meditation tonight? Maybe we should run to the supermarket to get more? I said “Hey, maybe try looking at me, sending loving wishes to me instead of a potato?” He agreed to try it, we sat down, I sat in front of him. He began focusing on his breath, then he cast his gaze at me and …. he tried but that … that potato look wasn’t there.
“I’ll just make a quick run to the grocery” he said “need anything dear?” he asked me. “Nope,” I said but I was thinking “Yes, for you to feel a fraction of the love for me that you feel for potatoes.”
ILLARIA
I tried to destroy my husband’s life. Because he started meditating. With a potato. I tried to destroy his life because I thought it was weird to meditate with a potato. And also because I was jealous of the potato.
See my husband has always meditated, but the issue in our marriage started when he was trying to get into this certain type of meditation called loving kindness meditation.
Loving kindness meditation is where you try to evoke feelings of safety and comfort and friendliness and love toward yourself and others. My husband was struggling with it and his meditation teacher asked him: what do you love most in the world?
And his answer wasn’t “my wife” it was “potatoes.”
When my husband first told me this, I asked him to please explain himself and he said:
“Well you know, I grew up in Idaho, on a potato farm. Mom would make these wonderful meals with potatoes as the centerpiece. Dad made us potato guns to play with in the backyard. We had potato sack races. When I think about potatoes, tHat’s my happy place. You know?”
I didn’t know. I intellectually understood it. But seeing him there in our study on his cushion. Holding a potato, looking lovingly at a potato. I felt like … that’s how I want him to look at me. I want him to look at me the way he looks at the potato.
So one day, I cooked all the potatoes in the house, made a giant shepherds pie, and gave it to a local homeless shelter. When it was my husband’s time to meditate and he couldn’t find his potatoes, I told him I wanted to share the happiness of potatoes with the homeless. He was touched by my generosity, but also worried. How would he do his loving kindness meditation tonight? Maybe we should run to the supermarket to get more? I said “Hey, maybe try looking at me, sending loving wishes to me instead of a potato?” He agreed to try it, we sat down, I sat in front of him. He began focusing on his breath, then he cast his gaze at me and …. he tried but that … that potato look wasn’t there.
“I’ll just make a quick run to the grocery” he said “need anything dear?” he asked me. “Nope,” I said but I was thinking “Yes, for you to feel a fraction of the love for me that you feel for potatoes.”
Monologue of the Month: The Metta Tater (Part 2)
by Gabriel Davis
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.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t cook you in hot oil like your fellow whores. Because you, Arlene, you hold a special place in his heart. So I felt you should be here to witness his ruin. I sent your man to jail Arlene. Your man, he used to be my man. He Is rotting in a cell. He is In lockup. Because of you. Are you happy with yourself? Well? Say something!
(Phone rings)
Well, I wonder who that could be. Caller ID says it’s from the city jail. And look who he’s calling. With his one call. Look who he’s calling. That’s right, he’s calling me. Not you. Do you know why? Because you are a potato, Arlene. And potatoes do not have phones. You can’t help him now only I can.
Should I answer? Oh I bet you’d like that if I answer and save him. Well I’m not going to answer ….
Ok, I’m going to answer.
Hello? Oh hi honey, where are you? I lost track of you at the grocery store there, hahaha. Bail you out? You want me to bail you out? I’m not sure. Maybe one of your potato wives can help you. Let me put Arlene on.
(Holds Arlene up to the phone)
Well go ahead, say something Arlene. Now is no time to demure. Your husband needs you. SAY SOMETHING ARLENE!! No? No.
Well it seems dear, Arlene is unable to speak to you. Why do you think that is? Because she is a potato. She’s a potato! She’s a potato!! A potato!
Oh here comes Arlene's doctor! Let me put him on.
(Feigning a man's voice} “Hello, Arlene’s husband? I have some bad news sir. Your wife is a vegetable. There’s nothing we can do. I suggest making your peace with the situation. I see you appear to also have a human wife. I'm putting her back on."
Well, hello again. .It appears you only have me to bail you out. Me! Your real wife. Your wife of flesh and bone and heart. Heart. You know I have one. A broken one. You broke it. You’re sorry and you love me? You’re not angry? You do realize … I put you in jail. It was me. I told them you were stealing the potatoes and … they believed me. But you’re still sorry and you love me. Why? I am not lovable. I am vengeful. wrathful, hateful. And I have hated you. And I have put you in jail and you … you have the nerve to say you’re sorry and you love me … well that is just … that is just crazy.
No, no. This is the part where you get angry and I tell you I’m going to leave you in jail and make Arlene into a hash brown. What do you mean its ok for me to make her into a hash-brown? How can you love me more than Arlene? She is a potato. You love potatoes. What do you mean you love me more? You think that’s what I want to hear? I want to hear you scream. I want your rage, not your love. Stop saying that. Stop saying you love me. It is too late. I am not going to bail you out just because you are saying you love me. I’m not going to bail you out just because you are saying all the right things. But … I guess you can say it again. And again. And again. Once more. That’s nice. That feels good. Say it again. Ah this … this is my heaven. I can’t believe this is still my heaven. But it is. This is insane … I put you in jail and you still … love me? Are you crazy? Yeah? Well … maybe I’m a little crazy too. Maybe love is a little crazy? Did you ever think of meditating on that? On the crazy fierce love that drives a woman to jail her man just so she can hear him say … those three magic little words.
"I love you."
Or maybe the three words are: "Bail me out."
Or maybe they’re: "I need you."
They are wanting sounds. They are needing sounds You may be in a physical jail, but I have been in a spiritual jail. My heart has been locked in agony... and the only way to bail myself out ... was to lock you up.... so that you would release me ... and … you have ... with those three little words ... still … next time, don’t wait until I put you in jail to say the words with such feeling. ok? Ok. Say them one more time.
Ok, I’m coming to get you. And … I love you too.
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.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t cook you in hot oil like your fellow whores. Because you, Arlene, you hold a special place in his heart. So I felt you should be here to witness his ruin. I sent your man to jail Arlene. Your man, he used to be my man. He Is rotting in a cell. He is In lockup. Because of you. Are you happy with yourself? Well? Say something!
(Phone rings)
Well, I wonder who that could be. Caller ID says it’s from the city jail. And look who he’s calling. With his one call. Look who he’s calling. That’s right, he’s calling me. Not you. Do you know why? Because you are a potato, Arlene. And potatoes do not have phones. You can’t help him now only I can.
Should I answer? Oh I bet you’d like that if I answer and save him. Well I’m not going to answer ….
Ok, I’m going to answer.
Hello? Oh hi honey, where are you? I lost track of you at the grocery store there, hahaha. Bail you out? You want me to bail you out? I’m not sure. Maybe one of your potato wives can help you. Let me put Arlene on.
(Holds Arlene up to the phone)
Well go ahead, say something Arlene. Now is no time to demure. Your husband needs you. SAY SOMETHING ARLENE!! No? No.
Well it seems dear, Arlene is unable to speak to you. Why do you think that is? Because she is a potato. She’s a potato! She’s a potato!! A potato!
Oh here comes Arlene's doctor! Let me put him on.
(Feigning a man's voice} “Hello, Arlene’s husband? I have some bad news sir. Your wife is a vegetable. There’s nothing we can do. I suggest making your peace with the situation. I see you appear to also have a human wife. I'm putting her back on."
Well, hello again. .It appears you only have me to bail you out. Me! Your real wife. Your wife of flesh and bone and heart. Heart. You know I have one. A broken one. You broke it. You’re sorry and you love me? You’re not angry? You do realize … I put you in jail. It was me. I told them you were stealing the potatoes and … they believed me. But you’re still sorry and you love me. Why? I am not lovable. I am vengeful. wrathful, hateful. And I have hated you. And I have put you in jail and you … you have the nerve to say you’re sorry and you love me … well that is just … that is just crazy.
No, no. This is the part where you get angry and I tell you I’m going to leave you in jail and make Arlene into a hash brown. What do you mean its ok for me to make her into a hash-brown? How can you love me more than Arlene? She is a potato. You love potatoes. What do you mean you love me more? You think that’s what I want to hear? I want to hear you scream. I want your rage, not your love. Stop saying that. Stop saying you love me. It is too late. I am not going to bail you out just because you are saying you love me. I’m not going to bail you out just because you are saying all the right things. But … I guess you can say it again. And again. And again. Once more. That’s nice. That feels good. Say it again. Ah this … this is my heaven. I can’t believe this is still my heaven. But it is. This is insane … I put you in jail and you still … love me? Are you crazy? Yeah? Well … maybe I’m a little crazy too. Maybe love is a little crazy? Did you ever think of meditating on that? On the crazy fierce love that drives a woman to jail her man just so she can hear him say … those three magic little words.
"I love you."
Or maybe the three words are: "Bail me out."
Or maybe they’re: "I need you."
They are wanting sounds. They are needing sounds You may be in a physical jail, but I have been in a spiritual jail. My heart has been locked in agony... and the only way to bail myself out ... was to lock you up.... so that you would release me ... and … you have ... with those three little words ... still … next time, don’t wait until I put you in jail to say the words with such feeling. ok? Ok. Say them one more time.
Ok, I’m coming to get you. And … I love you too.