Side Dish

I just finished the leftover Cassoulet for dinner tonight. I mention Cassoulet so often gentle reader, because it makes me sound smart, and rather international, doesn't it? It's all lies. Cassoulet is the first thing I have made since my steady diet of tinned soup began sometime around 2003. Savory, with just a little bit of heat, it was perfect, that Cassoulet. Perfect for all this dreadful weather that we've been having in the home town. Terrible, but I rather love it. So now that I am sitting by my open window and can hear the rain falling into the alley below; let me tell you why I made Cassoulet. A woman was coming over, or had you forgotten?

Vernice arrived right on time, with my guitar in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. My stomach leapt into the back of my throat on the site of the bottle because of the colossal hangover that I had; which only started to get better moments earlier when I had drinks in the bar downstairs while waiting for dinner to cook. Imagine that! The recovery; only two days. That's normal, right?

I greeted her in a newer black shirt and older jeans, my hair was still slightly damp from the shower I had before going to the bar. Vernice was wearing a black dress, simple, understated, and totally hot. It tied up at the back of her neck, and had a chiffon panel in the back with lace running over it. I love the LBD; so much so that I wish I could wear one myself. Vernice wore black shoes that looked like ballet slippers. On her left shoe was a little red rose where the smallest toe resides. The kicker for me though, which pulled everything together into a frenzy of excitement, which made me want to silently dance a crazy dance behind her on the way to the living room, was the taught string of pearls around her ankle. My friends had seen Vernice the night we met last month, and thought she was crazy. She was, but crazy is the new sexy, and I had my eye on her as soon as she walked into the restaurant. Eliza called her, "housewife on pills." Hearing that only made Venice that much more attractive. She had taken her panties off and thrown them at me later that night, when I was singing in a restaurant on the east side. Later, I passed out on her couch, left my guitar on her floor, and hadn't seen her until she was at the door for dinner that night about nine.

We had dinner, listened to Suicide, swapped stories, and drank wine. I mentioned the Cassoulet several times. She loved the food, she must have thought I was very smart and international for sure. She spent too much time on her responses though. They were calculated, I could tell she was hiding something, and sure enough, she was. Vernice told me just before desert, just when things were getting ridiculous with innuendo and it looked like I might be able to assume we would be kissing again, she told me she had a boyfriend. And in that little moment, the bottom fell out of the night, and "housewife on pills," just didn't seem that sexy anymore. So I finished my wine, moved through dessert, talked about the city, and the band, and pounced on her first test of the waters to see if she should get going or not. She seemed a little taken aback, but certainly wasn't going to investigate the matter further, it was pretty obvious. I told her I had a lovely time, and thanked her for bringing my guitar, and was back in bed my midnight.

I most certainly did have a lovely time, the Cassoulet was superb. It's from the south of France you know.