An Erotic Christmas
My wife had been stuck in Helsinki and I was spending Christmas on my own. I was not planning to cook a chicken let alone a turkey. As a child there was nothing I liked more than what we used to call “un oeuf au miroir”, an egg broken into a pan of melting butter. The yellow is intact and it is set in an island of egg-white. But what made it irresistible was the golden fried onions sprinkled over it, with a bit of salt and black pepper. I think it was the black pepper which gave it its unique taste. But I found in the morning that I had no black pepper. No, white pepper simply would not do! It is Christmas and shops are closed. So it was going to be a miserable cheese sandwich for me.
I decided to go for a walk instead. To my surprise, I found a Pakistani shop open. Although I know that they always overcharge you, I thought I’d walk in. I was delighted when I found a small sachet of black pepper at a price which was not going to ruin me. I found a lady with a mask paying for three bottles of wine, with a small black dog yapping with impatience because she wanted out of here. Anyway I paid for my pepper, and was walking home when I noticed the lady, except that this time, the dog which was on a leash had decided she did not want to take one step further. She had stopped. There was the lady cajoling her and she simply would not budge. I had vaguely noticed earlier that she was walking at a fair rate and the poor thing was finding it difficulty to keep pace. I had no idea what the woman looked like but she had an attractive physique. I suppose that was what made me say, If you pardon my saying so ma’am, I think your poor dog was finding it difficult to keep pace with you, I hope you don’t mind me barging in. She turned to me, and in her eyes I saw a smile of gratitude. “D’you know,” she said, “I wasn’t thinking, thank you.” We had reached the Bruntsfield Link, and as we were both going past the Meadows, we were happy to indulge in some small talk. I mentioned my Christmas fare, and she laughed. What about you? I asked. “Oh I am not bothered, I’m on my own. A ham sandwich perhaps, but this,” pointing at the wine in her bag, “will make up for everything.” I was never one to miss an opportunity. “Why, ma’am, it’s unhealthy to drink on your own.” It was then that she mentioned that her husband Colin, a truck driver was unable to make it home. I knew about five thousand hauliers stuck in the longest traffic jam in history, in Kent, over France closing its borders owing to the new strain of Covid now rampant in Britain. That must be the greatest Christmas gift I’ve ever. “Why don’t you join me then?”
When we got to her place, she removed her mask, and I discovered that she was one of the handsomest women I’ve ever seen.
“Do you have eggs?”