November 16, 2014, by James

Full Fat

In the past fifteen minutes a terrible event has occurred. A moment of such heartache that the world has stopped turning and the very saints have fallen into heavy, ill-advised and yet unavoidable sobs. Matthew Stephen Boucher of 78 Rothesay Avenue has just finished baking an apple pie, and he has run out of cream.

The film ‘American Pie’ once compared baked goods to a passionate romance and as I watch Matt lying in the fetal position, heart-broken and lightly sobbing, I am beginning to feel that film holds a metaphorical resonance I have yet to fully appreciate. For, true to many of Matt’s romantic escapades, this endgame is something flaky, ill-prepared and lacking in moisture.

Something occurs to me, ‘You know Hugh had some cream…’

Matt’s eyes light up, though they are now puffier than the pastry. I hear him curse for forgetting to check the second fridge. He prays for three hours of plumping, poking and being excessively kneady to not be in vain.

Matt opens the fridge, he sets eyes on the cream and the cream sets eyes on him. Just like that they know they should be together. Neither man nor dairy cows to their emotions, they embrace them fully and without prejudice. Matt’s finger skims across the top shelf, his fingers grasps her red top and those pale curves. The milk looks away in shock, the butter concurds. He doesn’t care what they think, for Matt knows he loves her for what is inside. They belong together, till the crumbs are consumed and the plate licked clean, till dishes do them part. There is but one obstacle, for she was already taken by a thankless suitor, Hugh. Hugh the possessive, Hugh the paranoid, Hugh who had already branded his ownership onto that polypropylene posterior.

But Matt was not swayed. Actions speak louder than words and those words lose some legitimacy when written in felt-tip. Matt stands against the convention of society; he is not constrained by fools’ etiquette, now is his time to seize the moment and he carpes his diems. With one hand he holds his lady aloft and in this moment, in his glory, with the entire weight of history behind him and a brighter future beckoning, he lets loose with the most powerful, the most resonant and the most personal of proclamations: “I have a cream!” he yells. The crowds go wild, the saints reach for their handkerchiefs and with an almighty “thunk” the Earth resumes spinning.

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Hugh’s gonna be mad.

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