The lady with the pasta

I can’t help myself to look at the lady in the picture on my kitchen wall. It is a black and white portrait of a great looking girl who is as skinny as they come. She is sitting on the countertop in only her bra, holding a hand of cooked spaghetti over her mouth as if she will be eating it when she’s finally finished smiling at it. 

In my mind, I can’t help but see the photographer standing in front of her with slightly bent knees and the camera in hand snapping away while he yells things at the poor girl like ‘look at the pasta like you want to make love to it’, ‘like it’s your best friend’, ‘LOVE THE PASTA’. 

I can almost feel the corners of her mouth trembling because she has been smiling at the fucking pasta for at least half an hour. 

Her perfectly slim belly makes noises as if it is saying, ‘WOMAN’, ‘we haven’t had carbs since 2001, and these even have gluten in them; eat it!’ ‘We need this.’ 

Would she have devoured the cooked pasta after they took the winning shot? Did the photographer take her out for dinner afterwards and try to get her into the sack? Would she have chosen a delicious pasta dish to nourish her cravings, or did she take the salad without the dressing and croutons? 

The girl is stuck on my kitchen wall, frozen in time, with the cooked pasta in hand, which almost, but definitely not, is touching her mouth. It’s a sad story.

Then my timer goes off. My pasta is ready.

🍝