Prompt Day #288: Characterize a modern, civilized cannibal, who is grappling with an unfortunate dietary restriction
The Anniversary Party
“Darling! You’re back, thank God.” Monica kissed his cheek. “Now, you must come with me, we have a terrible conundrum in the dining room.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him along. He limped behind her, wincing with each step. “Now, look at these napkins. I specifically said butter and they sent yellow. I called but of course they can’t guarantee they’ll be here in time for the party. I’m just sick.”
He smiled at her. She loved her parties, that’s for sure. He was lucky to have found her; her sophisticated tastes mirrored his own. Plus her culinary skills allowed them to indulge their most sinful appetites. He sighed, he hated to add more stress to her already trying day, but it was his anniversary party too, the menu would have to be changed.
“The yellow napkins are bright and cheerful. I think they are perfect. Keep them.” Good, he’d start by solving a problem before introducing the next one. “But, I do have some bad news, I’m afraid.” Her eyes immediately fell to his left foot. The foot that had been swelling up and causing him such pain over the last couple weeks. She remembered his doctor’s appointment, the one in her pre-party frenzy, she’d forgotten to ask him about.
“What? Is it your foot? Are you ok? What did Dr. Genevieve say?” She asked
“Gout? Well, can’t you take a pill or something for that? That’s not bad news, you’re being overly dramatic.” She said and laughed.
“He put me on a diet. No organ meats.” He said
“What?” she laughed “That’s ridiculous. Did you tell him that when we do eat…meat…we only eat the organ meat? Tell him to just double the dose of your pills.”
“Monica. The gout in my foot is bad, he said not another bite.”
“Well, that’s impossible. Did you tell him we have a dinner party tonight? Did you tell him I made my famous pate? What about the brain tarts? Oh, and the kidney quiches? My God, Jackson, it’s all we eat.”
“He said no organ meat. None. So, we’ll have to call a caterer last minute. It will be ok.” It wouldn’t be of course. Human organs were hard to come by in this day and age and certainly not to be wasted.
“A caterer? Are you serious? And ask them to make what? Lamb shanks? Filet Mignon?” She spit the words out “What are we cavemen? I won’t hear it, Jackson. I refuse to eat like common savages.”
“So, I won’t eat.” He said pouting. She’d give in, she’d have to.
“What if I could get a child, a baby even? Would that be better for your gout? I could whip up another pate special for you. Your own quiche and tart, too. Darling, please, please don’t make me eat like a peasant.”
“Where are you going to find a child or baby at this hour on a Thursday?” He asked. “Besides, it’s something in the organ meat itself. It doesn’t matter what age the person is we’re eating. I just can’t, Dear. And no alcohol either.” He winced again as Monica slammed her white wine down on the table.
“What exactly do you expect me to say to that, Jackson? Should I go google ‘what wine pairs with carrot sticks and chicken breast’?” She stomped her foot and began to cry. “You’re ruining our anniversary.” He sighed. He supposed he could just take an extra dose of Tylenol before dinner.
He straightened up all of a sudden. He had an idea. “Go get your Xanax, I’m going for a drive.”
“You can’t drive on Xanax.” She said
“It’s not for me, Love. I’m going to take them down to the Methadone clinic and lure a doped up addict into the car. If you are going to force me to eat pate, I’m going to need the extra pain meds.” He smiled. It was a brilliant idea. He saw her face light up. He had saved the day, saved her face, saved the party, and probably saved his marriage.
“Oh, Honey! That’s a wonderful idea. This is the best anniversary ever.” She ran off and came back with her prescription bottle, a quarter full he noticed. “For a moment, I thought you were seriously going to make us start eating…animals.” She shuddered.
“Never, my love.” He said and limped to the car.