We were just six year old then but we owned juniors at Nanette Nursery and so that did make us feel grown up enough to think of being man and wife.
He was unlike me sincere and serious about love than chicken.
It was a cloudless evening. And he and I were yet to be off our nursery outfits.
He and I huddled together under the dining table, me chomping away at a cake and he trying desperately to help me become woman enough.
Our conversation must have been fairly interesting to his parents and mine while they dined on the table under which we huddled.
He repeated his usual banter while I licked my yummy cake, "When we marry I will buy you Paris perfume"
I express wordless disinterest by biting the cake harder.
He clears his throat and says again, "When we marry, You will eat all my chicken"
My eyes and heart lit at that declaration and I smiled unashamedly at him.
His eyes too lit up seeing mine do.
He huddles closer, so close my bluish green bow grazes his half untucked shirt.
He almost whispers, " I love your dimples, your eyes, I love all of you"...He pauses for breath and asks through a two toothless lisp, "What do you love of me?"
I am still dreaming of a double share of chicken and so I say, "I love your chicken with all my heart"
He looks at me with helpless eyes and then as if he knew nothing could be done about my head, he grows quiet.
Across the years, food still colours my thoughts. Some people opined I was professionally beyond sixty and personally below three.
I think it is more because some women are born women, some become and some like me are so lost in food thoughts to just remember to be woman enough.
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