In your biography I plannedan entire chapter on food. Thatis a true thing though few writersacknowledge it. Once, I wasforced to sit down and read astack of Lincoln biographiesat gunpoint as the price for myfreedom. They are not menus.
You said no, too boring! Youwould rather eat it than write it,your mouth shedding Pringles,deceit gurgling in your pipes.SO WHY TORTURE MEby sharing vicariously everytidbit that crossed your lips?
This is where it gets interesting.You joining 12-Step programsfor over-eaters and running toDairy Queen until they fired youand then starting again. So manytimes I lost count. You reveledin the thrill of outwitting thosegroups and bragging about it.You were the caped crusader ofthe foodies, the Arsène Lupin ofcroissant-lovers everywhere!Except I guess it’s hard to peein the bat suit, so there’s that.
You are a rule-breaker I wouldsay for the umpteenth time, andyou replied, I know, I know, inthe soft voice religious peoplecarry into their confessionalsin the hopes of calling up theghost of redemption. Does itever appear I asked? But youwere too busy thawing a pizza.
Finally, we compromised andreplaced your biography withthis poem. And then, you died,so there will not be any morecompromises. This is it! Youalways said it was hot in thatapartment and hard to breatheand you then you proved it.
A poem is better, you said,because you know too muchabout me to be my biographer.Watch out, I said, because Ican put as much into this poemas you can put into your chili.These are true statements.
Just to clarify, the bonusmaterial includes a chapteron your bodily fluids (afavorite topic) and yourmedicine cabinet (anotherfascination), along withspeculation on the identityof the man you claimedlived under your bed. Itseems you had been a nurseat some point, but it didn’tagree with you, in much thesame way that Europe couldnever agree with Napoleon.
I might as well share one ofthe stories that was meantfor the book. How, lying inyour tent on a family outing,you awoke at three a.m.needing to pee and foundthat you could not get up.
You promptly called yoursister on the phone wakingher and asked if she wouldcome out into the woodsand help you pee. She toldyou never to call back andhung up. There you were!Feeling your way forwardalone with unseen guides!Has there ever been a truerbiography written than this?
You explained that youfinally managed to get toyour feet by climbing up anearby suitcase, stumblingout of the tent to find thatthere’s no escape from thedarkness at 3 am, I meanit’s not the Champs-Élysées,so you stood there entirelylost in the woods and hada nice, long, satisfying peein your pants exactly likeBatman would have done.
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