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The Eclectic Pen - Kitchen Confidential

By: Scott W. (Rev)   + 36 more  
Date Submitted: 2/20/2008
Genre: Literature & Fiction » Short Stories & Anthologies
Words: 719
Rating:

It was sitting there innocently enough when I came home from work, dead center of the kitchen table, as if it had every conceivable right to be there. My kitchen table is usually cluttered with work papers, unread mail, half eaten toaster pastries, and dirty dishes from a week or so of hastily eaten meals. So finding it completely clear of any debris would have been an occurrence odd enough to cause alarm. But the red satin shoe in the center of the table was proverbial cherry on the gluten-free cake of astonished bewilderment. It was a red satin shoe with black lace trim and a four inch heel, and it had absolutely no business being in my house, let alone positioned on my kitchen table as if it were ready for a catalog photo shoot. The shoe’s very existence was so inconceivable that I simply stood and stared at it for the longest time as I repeatedly attempted to wrap my mind around some kind of logical explanation for its presence. There was no chance whatsoever that it had been left behind, accidentally or intentionally, by a woman. Seventeen different species of Amazonian Swallow had become extinct since I had last entertained anyone of the opposite sex in my humble abode, and even if that last brief visitor had suddenly decided to swing by and drop off a random article of clothing, I doubted she was even close to being paroled. The possibility that I had left it there myself and forgotten it was enthusiastically pondered, but the logical portion of my brain wouldn’t let that one get a firm hold. Even if I did happen to own such a shoe without consciously being aware of it, the odds of me cleaning the kitchen table off for the first time in seventeen full moons in order to display it were to Slim to None, and Slim wasn’t taking bets today. I’m not sure how long I stood there grappling with the implications of the shoe’s existence. I only know that it was the knock at the kitchen door that startled me from the confused trance that most likely would have had me standing there all night. It didn’t feel like now was a good time to receive visitors, but I couldn’t really rationalize how mysteriously appearing ladies footwear should prevent me from answering the door, so I did. I opened to the kitchen door to find a red satin evening dress standing on the rear stoop. Squeezed almost impossibly into that red satin evening dress was the largest, hairiest, most muscular man I had ever seen up close and in person, outside of my embarrassingly short-lived vacation at Lumberjack Fantasy Camp. This towering brute of a man hooked a thumb as thick as a tire iron under one dainty strap and straightened it with a shrug that sent muscles like coiled steel cables rippling under his fur-matted shoulders. An eyebrow nearly as thick as his sizeable mustache arched violently, and he shot me a quizzical glance with such force that I could feel the breeze tussle my hair. “Hey Mac, you didn’t happen to find a shoe lying around, did you?” It was debatable whether it was the question or his breath that nearly caused me to swoon, but I managed to keep it together and only whimper slightly. Following a hunch, I let my eyes fall hurriedly past his unmercifully exposed calves to a pair of bare feet that would undoubtedly put the most freakishly overgrown Yeti to shame. The questions swimming through my mind were numerous and complex, but all I could manage was to nod slightly and stagger zombie-like to the kitchen table. Inviting the shoe’s owner in was out of the question, mainly because I had serious doubts as to his ability to fit through the comparatively tiny doorway. So I picked up the satin pump gingerly in both hands and, holding it at arm’s length as if presenting a humble token of respect to Royalty, I returned to the doorway and offered the shoe to the delicately garbed behemoth. The mustache sized eyebrow threatened to leave his forehead altogether as it arched even higher. He fixed me with an insulted stare that threatened to rip me limb from limb all on its own. “Do I,” he asked, “really look like a size five to you, pal?”

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by Scott W. (Rev)

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