YOU NEED A JAR OF MAYONNAISE!

It's all the fault of a pretty Asian woman. The odd things in my fridge. Her fault. The extraordinary cuteness -- or maybe some mysterioso Chinese American voodoo -- affected my judgment. We white men are strangely vulnerable to such things. What with being weak and all.
Fu Manchu works a dangerous spell upon us.
Or at least, his wicked little sister does.
White men are helpless around her.

It's evil, I tell you.
Evil.


I'm blaming my apartment mate for the things I bought at the food store late the other day. Because, like all white men, I am denying any personal responsibility, and leaping on the nearest convenient explanation that involves labeling another ethnic group.


I had returned from Marin, where I spent two days with fine briar pipes, removing crud from the inside and oxidation from the stems, then picking the built-up tar out of the rims of sandblasted items, and buffing. Several Italian briars now look positively virginal, and show fine grain definition in directional light. They'll probably go for a pretty penny, but whoever finally acquires them will be a happy camper with exceptional taste.
I was kind of tired.

Also, due to too much fun with other consumers of fine tobacco products the previous night, I had not had nearly enough sleep.


My apartment mate was sitting in front of the teevee watching real housewives from Atlanta fighting and talking about mortuary science, while doing a project on the computer. She was concentrating, busy typing intelligently, they were just background examples of how real American women behave.

Women with lots of make-up, overweight cleavage, and hair jobs that cost more than a downpayment on a house.

Real American women are NOT normal Cantonese females wearing pajamas. With functioning brains. Fox News, William James "Bill" O'Reilly, and Ms. Megyn Marie Kelly would have screaming fits if that were ever even suggested. Like Santa, real American women are black or white and vulgar as Croesus.

Real American women do NOT wear jammies with a penguin pattern.
As well as a plain unfemmy normal bathrobe.
Because it's winter.


After unspinning my tense nerves and upper-limb muscles with a nice hot cup of coffee, I decided that I needed to eat. Now, seeing as my apartment mate and I are NOT an item or a couple, just friends who happen to share an apartment in downtown San Francisco (where real American women would NEVER live), there was nothing in the refrigerator that I could lay claim to other than condiments.

And white bread. Which is real American.

So I went to the store.

One pumpkin pie (on sale). A tube of anchovy paste. A bâtard. A jar of chiles en escabeche. Hot sauce. A frozen microwave biryani. Hunk of blue cheese. Greek yoghurt. Shrimp flavour egg-noodles. Seaweed. They were out of peanut butter, so I bought three jars of mayonnaise instead.

If I had been living with a real American woman, I probably would've bought steak, potatoes, feta, tofu, and a yoga class.

And paid for that with a platinum card.

Then spun out of the parking lot.

In a brand-new sports car.

I'm rich, bitches!

Instead, I'm living with an evil Asian American woman, whose Teddy Bear growls fiercely at me, as well as penguin pattern pajamas. Even though she never touches mayonnaise, it was some kind of Oriental mind-control that made me buy three jars of that stuff.


On the plus side of this daemonic Chinese plot I find myself involved in, there are hardly any facial creams and no stockpiles of eye-shadow in the bathroom, no screaming cat fights with Kardasians, Atlantean bitches, or Hollywood harridans, no tofu wheatgrass cleansing shakes or facial scrub, and no drug habits, bloated egos, or nasty relatives, to complicate matters.
Just a smallish female person in front of the teeveee.
Who speaks proper English, in calm tones.
In happy penguin pajamas.


I now have three jars of mayonnaise.

And a discounted pumpkin pie.

What was I thinking?



Suggestions from black and white vulgarians are welcome.

Help me.




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