by Matt Lydon
"Waldo, you are, without a doubt, an absolute maestro in the art of tapioca," Jane said, smiling up from her pudding. The years had worn both of them to virtual nubs of humanity, skin once stretched taut in the heat and fire of youth, now loose, jowly and old. The look befitted both of them, and though most in Jane's circle would never have dared say so, she and Waldo made a handsome couple. It had been decades since Mr. Foster's death, and Jane's feelings toward Waldo had simmered to a warm, delicious shiver in these intervening years. She could never tell him, or give in to those feelings and claim that happiness she felt could be hers. For Jane Foster, and her milieu, passion with the handsome, faithful, long-suffering man-servant was just not acceptable, so praising the tapioca was the only channel a lady had.
Matt Lydon is a pre-service teacher and writer living near Philadelphia, PA. He usually writes here.