That time I cheated on my wife...

December 26th, 17:21

Wifey is dressed to kill for

the guests are just about to

knock on our door and

AVOCADOS ARE NEEDED.

Sent on a mission with nothing

but hopelessness

for the odds of stumbling upon

guac-ready avocados

13 minutes before their smashing

are about the same as

being murdered by my striking

wife in her tuxedo jacket.

Open sesame and I am

staring at the fruits and veggies lined up in

their designated coops,

waiting,

waiting

to be traded for coins,

butchered, and eaten alive,

and tadah!

I catch a glimpse of my lovers

glowing

under the neon lights,

and I, oh I am blushing.

There, elegantly stuck between

the tomatoes grown on vines inside

a greenhouse somewhere in Canada,

and the English cucumbers suffocating

in cellophane since

they left from Mexico,

an erection of sleek, slightly eroded shells

the color of burnt wine with a few

grassy specks perfectly scattered.

I lay a sanitized hand on a few...

they gently give in to my fingering thumb

pressed against their skin

and I am dripping, oh I am dripping.

The first lines of an exotic fairytale...

50 shades of green.

Wait...

Am I cheating on my wife right now?

Back in the bedroom kitchen.

Skin peeled, flesh chartreuse

and silk-like... my Aphrodite is now trickling.

Core out, back facing up,

mash the avocados

by applying pressure.

Note: a regular fork works great, but the use of force, manipulation, or threat is not recommended.

Fresh lemon severed lengthwise;

one half in hand, use an index to prompt its juices out,

drench the thick purée.

Fold in a pinch of crushed pink salt crystals and

sprinkle of red peppercorn particules,

splash its peak with a dash of hot sauce....

pure and tangy guacamole

and I moan, oh I moan.

Now,

fantasies need to stop

for I am running late and

my wife may use her tux to

apply gentle pressure on my face.

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