Today in my life, my boss bought me sweet potatoes.
You know. The kind that are crispy and orange and fried in a yellowish corn oil that clogs your arteries and makes you age at the speed of light. Yeah. Those ones.
So, I was sitting at my desk, typing away and he comes into my personal space declaring his hunger and decides to buy lunch for anyone who wants it. I ask for sweet potato fries.
No burger, he says? No thanks, I say, wondering if I am being judged. He shrugs.
It was hailing this morning and downpouring. The grass is soggy. The streets cry tears. The trees drip. There is a muggy mist in the air. My boss says so as he comes inside with my sweet potatoes.
I thank him and open the container. Whiffs of sweet savoryness escort themselves to my nostrils. I bite into a fry and I’m sadly disappointed. They’re a little too firm and a little un-sweet. I let them sit and they grow cold as I type.
I’m thinking of the one thing they would pair well with – mayo. Mayo makes everything perfect. My phone buzzes and it is my friend telling me she loves me and thanks me for asking how she’s been. I turn the phone over and keep typing.
Ain’t got no time for texting or dipping fries in mayo.
The Silent Storyteller 