Letters From Heather — Specialty Dish — 2033

[Ed. Note: Gearing up to do a pretty solid illustrated fiction dump here in the coming days, so in order to fully embrace THAT project, I want to happily put another to bed. Scrolling back on the feed, you'll likely notice that I've done this series, "Letters From Heather," in collaboration with the incredible visual talents of @aldoinheaven (on IG & Twitter). It has been such a fun collaboration! During that process, he was nice enough to share some works in progress with me, and I was loving them. But hey! Life gets in the way sometimes, and Aldo has been ROCKING it — he's a super talented artist, and he's been coming out of the Covid Era swinging, so he's been super busy! And, he was nice enough to let me use some Works In Progress to round out this eccentric tale of Your's Truly In A Parallel Universe. I hope you enjoy.]

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The onions, caramelized. That’s the important part. A low, slow simmer for like, two hours gets all the sugars out.

Diced tomatoes, ground beef, sliced garlic, a cheesecloth satchel with celery, carrots, and bay leaves. A tiny dash of cinnamon at the end, and a grate of fresh nutmeg. Solid bolognese.

It’s nice getting to cook. Especially when I know someone is coming around. So often, I just live on delivery. I promise myself I’m going to try to get out more, but most nights, I just get lazy, and “to hell with it.” I always have fun when I go out, when someone forces me to pause my reclusion and just come out, already.

I promised myself: I’m not going to let these make me a hermit. Even if they never stop growing. It’s not that I don’t like the attention, sometimes. And getting around is fine, even though I have been told that I’ve got a very distinctive waddle. Sometimes, it just takes a lot of emotional energy to handle the type of attention Natalia and Olga draw. Even more to clarify, “Yes, THAT writer with the massive breasts.” Signing the autographs is kinda fun, though.

Plus, if I hadn’t gone to that dinner, I probably wouldn’t have met you, which would have been a bummer. Because you’re fun so far.

And, you were apparently cool with seeing me all but buck-naked. I appreciate that. [facepalms] To be fair to you, I did tell you to just let yourself in when you got there, and you did say “it could be any time after 6:30,” I just kept having “8:00” on my mind. So I probably would have put on some, you know, pants. Or a top. Or something. But you didn’t ask me to, and I didn’t offer to, so I guess my bad hosting etiquette isn’t such a bad thing.

You startled me when you got there. I was just minding my own business, humming to some music while stirring the sauce. I’ve gotten good at commanding a stove with only one hand. Facing the countertop doesn’t really work anymore since there’s just too much of me in the way. My back hurts enough as-is without having to hunch over a stove for an hour, so I stand sideways to give the ladies their space. And, it leaves one hand free for a wine glass.

You knocked on the doorframe. I must have jerked my neck when I saw you there over my left shoulder. Thanks for cleaning the wine I sloshed on the floor, by the way.