tea anyone?

It is the toothpicks with olives on them holding together a perfectly triangular whole wheat sandwich that are my muses this morning. I developed a mini obsession with the need to get the hummus sprinkled with sama2 in the perfect spiral formation over the weekend. Before serving it I looked at it and smirked to myself with jubilant glee.
Visuals of cooking competitions and chefs serving French cuisine consumed my reality and helped me get past the fact that I was in fact a French maid sans the French, the sexy outfit or a pay for that matter. I floated on air serving hors d’oeuvres here and there and picking up china with traces of what was once upon a time something pretty and yummy waiting to satiate someone’s hunger. I so frivolously felt like an elite epicurean. The perfect sprinkle of basil here and the right amount of illustrious chocolate drizzle there are what set my taste buds apart from the masses’.

But unfortunately my fanciful daydreaming and my buzz from the salad garnished with radish flowers was quickly heading for FUBAR status as an 8 year old boy no taller than my waist looked at me with “I am the man you must obey me” eyes and waived his finger in the air to indicate 2 scoops of sugar, and demanding in a demeaning voice“don’t forget to add milk into it so you don’t burn my tongue like you did the last time” I pause for a second and waive him off with a “you’re so funny little man.. you almost had me going there for a second” to which he promptly responded “ why would I be funny. I wouldn’t ask for it if I didn’t want it. Now go make it.” And he turns his back and walks away with a confidence that rubbed me the wrong way. He plops himself comfortably next to his mother, placing a hand on her knee waiting for a signal... some form of acknowledgement or reassurance. She’s in the middle of a conversation, doesn’t look at him but gives him what he’s waiting for by putting her hand on top of his. It was only then that he smiled. The way, I imagine, the devil did when he finally convinced Eve to eat from the forbidden fruit. It’s a condescending “I now own your soul” smile. His strategic positioning had granted him immunity. The little runt could barely see over the counter but was coyer than coy. He, like a general planning strategy for a war, hand carefully thought this through and now was smug with joy waiting to reap the rewards of his intellect and planning. I, perfectly aware of this little miscalculation on my part, wanted to reach down this throat, grab his balls, pull them through his mouth making him curl up just to accommodate the logistics of it all. I wanted to slam his jaw shut over them to hold them in place and consequently force him to roll everywhere like a tire. I knew exactly what the circling animated stars around his little football of a head would look like dancing to the song of a coocoo clock as his pea brain registered the pain. And if that was a little too graphic then a slap aside the head would’ve sufficed. It would be a mercy killing really… A quick decapitation. Time would slow down and the pretty red splatter of his blood would create crimson spirals in the air as they project onto the walls around him. but luckily for him… the screeching sounds of my vinyl conscience quickly stepped in to fend for the mini me version of his dictator of a father.
‘It’s not his fault… just cuz he hasn’t hit the double digits yet doesn’t mean he doesn’t have the right to drink his tea the way he wants it….children are sponges sandy they just mimic what they see at home…. and really mimicry is the highest form of flattery… so if anything this action just tells you how much he loves his father….its all just a reiteration of the beauty and love that children possess… and plus you’re already serving the tea anyways maybe you’re just on edge from all the waiting on people you’ve been doing today’
At which point the evil me surfaces and knocks out my conscience accompanied by a musical interlude labled “hahahhaha wipe out” .

“WTF!?!? Not only are you putting up with this kind of behavior but you’re defending it as well?! this little piece of toilet decoration hasn’t even mastered the art of riding a bike yet and has the audacity to tell you to make him tea?! Who drinks tea at his age anyways? Doesn’t it like stunt his growth or something? Shouldn’t his oh so typically arab father be worried about his son’s sperm count?! What of the family legacy? What would be said of him in the history books? "he was unable to have children due to lazy swimmers?" But then again maybe you’re doing the world a favor by fast tracking his impotence a cause de caffeine thereby contributing to his inability to procreate in the distant future. “SANDY SAVES THE WORLD BY ERADICATING ONE MALE SHOVANIST AT A TIME“ Of course the headlines would have a lot more of an impact if sandy could infact actually correctly spell chauvinist.

This was taken during a winter festival called Nights of fire presented by a French fire troupe called cie Carabosse in Toronto.

This young gay couple caught my eye because of their expressive body language, awkward giggles and flirty glances. There was something intriguing and captivating about them. It wasn’t so much the idea that they were homosexual but that they symbolized the idea of possibility, the ever illusive notion of love, a phenomenon that transgressed the nature of relationships, heterosexual and homosexual couples alike. Anyone who has ever been in love can identify with the feeling, the rawness of a relationship, the want and hope for it to progress and the dance that revolves around the circumstance of courtship.