Old Grandma's Tales
"Never trust a skinny cook," says a middle-aged woman
in a green windbreaker and cropped yoga pants, as she clangs
pots and pans in the home goods section of TJ Maxx,
searching for bargains. "Why, Grandma?" A small boy scuffs
and stomps his feet, activating blinking lights in the soles
of his dirty sneakers. "Because they're bad cooks, they're so
skinny," she pushes her cart toward the packaged foods:
boxed imported cookies, single origin honeys and oils.
He marches in place, surrounded by cupcake holders, plastic
bowls, and galvanized steel beverage bins. "Grandma, what
about fat cooks?" But she's in the next aisle, rifling through
placemats and napkins, oval table clothes. He asks again,
shoes flashing as he runs from aisle to aisle. "They're good cooks,
because they taste everything they cook," she says, adding
a bright gingham plastic tablecloth to her cart, overflowing with
decorative pillows, rugs, and multi-pack socks. The boy, quiet,
thoughtful, follows her into a future of women who feed him lies.
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