Let’s see… How should I go about this? How does Alexis start one of these? Oh, I remember now!

Today’s the first day I start my new decision to become a better cook in the kitchen, so I decided to try and make something original. As much as I played that line over and over in my head, making an original recipe is a lot harder than I thought it was gonna be. I thought about all of the different kinds of foods I made for me and Alexis and all of the food I ate as a kid, so it should have been easy for me to think of something original.

But then, thinking about all of that stuff suddenly made me realize that whenever I had an idea of something to make, I remember a time when I ate something like it.

I have all of the different ingredients on the kitchen counter; different types of spices, a bunch of fruits, veggies, and side dishes, and then the main protein is a nice sized pack of ground meat. I take a few steps back from the counter and fold my arms, lightly tapping a finger on my chin as I look at all of the stuff I bought.

“Hmm… Hmmm… Hmph!”

I pout and stomp around a bit as nothing comes to mind for a possible dinner dish. At least, nothing new or original in my mind. I let out an exaggerated sigh and run my fingers on all of the ingredients, poking each and every one. The longer it takes for me to try and think of something to make, the less amount of time I’ll actually have to make it before Alexis comes home from work.

I take a glance at the small, decorative clock above the sink; the time reads “4:04 PM” in nice, blinking numbers.

I start speaking my thought out loud, “Alexis gets off at five thirty and should be home no later than six thirty, seven if the afternoon rush hour is terrible.” I cross my arms and close my eyes, letting all of my thoughts come out, “If I make something simple, then I need to start no later than five thirty…”

I lean back against the counter and keep myself deep in food thoughts. Naturally, I start to drool a bit from the corner of my mouth, thinking about all of the succulent dishes, delicious plates of food, and amazing and tasty desserts. The more I think about food, the more I can feel myself slipping into a daze. I hear a small dripping sound next to me and it snaps me back to reality; I drooled so much, I ended up making a tiny puddle at my feet.

Giving myself a wake up pat on the cheeks, I puff out my chest and reinvigorate myself to make sure I can think of an original dish for my girlfriend before she comes home. I want her to be proud of me! But I need an idea of what to make.

From the kitchen, I can see part of the T.V in the living room; it’s running a few infomercials. I keep my eyes on it, waiting for the main program to come back on, whatever it was that I left it on before I went to the store.

When I see what I was watching on the T.V, my eyes widen with inspiration, “I was watching a cooking competition!”

Switching from “Housewife Sam” to “Lazy Sam,” I rush over to the living room and climb over the back of the couch, comfortably laying on my side and watching the food competition unfold. Looking at all of the random ingredients and items that the chefs are given could easily inspire somebody watching to try their best at trying to recreate those same dishes. I’m even starting to get a few ideas as to what I should make.

I mentally start taking notes of everything each chef does, which tools they used, their techniques and styles. I notice the small clock in the lower right corner of the T.V which says “4:56.”

I let out a tiny gasp, taking notice of how quickly time flew while I was watching, “I need to keep my time in mind! If I pay attention to the number of commercials, I’ll be able to keep myself in line to cook.”

I get up from the couch and head towards the kitchen, leaving the T.V on the channel. I grab my white and blue apron off of the little rack on the side of the sink and tie it tight around me, preparing myself to start cooking.

“Now, let’s begin the sweet desserts challenge special!”

… What?

I slowly turn around on the ball of my foot and stare at the T.V; the intro theme to a special, limited airing dessert competition starts playing. My sweet tooth starts getting a small tingle as I see all of the different treats flashing in front of me. Like it’s second nature, I walk to the T.V and lay back down. I lose myself in a beautiful array of sugar.

* * * * *

“So, you wanted to making something original and ended up getting caught in a marathon of cooking shows?”

Full of embarrassment, I let out a chuckle and scratch the back of my head, “Yeah, sorry. I wanted to try something different for dinner tonight.”

“If you wanted to try something different and original, then why didn’t to make something from your Japanese side of the family?”

“… Huh?”

Japanese…? Why would she say to make something Jap– I totally forgot I’m Japanese-American…

Blank expression on my face, the sudden realization that I have Japanese in my blood makes me freeze up with embarrassment and I stare at my plate on my lap. I spent so much time on making up a new dish from seeing stuff on T.V that I ignored the other half of me… I’m so forgetful, how the hell does Alexis deal with me on a daily basis?

— via Daily Prompt: Original Original

“Wait wait wait. Hang on, don’t move.”

Today, I’m helping out with cleaning around the house; Samantha actually said she needed my help with it. She wants to clean around and underneath all of the furniture we have around the house, so she wants me to move things around while she does her thing. I swear, I’m going to feel sore in the morning after all this.

We’re starting in the living room first, so I have to move the couch and table off of the carpet. I prepare myself by pulling my hair back into a small ponytail and doing a few stretches. As limber and flexible as I am, I can hear a few bones crack and loosen up. I take a deep breath and put my hands on my hip, letting the refreshing feeling run through my body for a minute.

“Man, I needed that,” I say out loud. I move my head around to make some tension in my neck go away; a loud, nasty cracking sound rings through the living room. I laugh a bit at how much sound my body makes as I reach down to get a grip of the bottom of the couch “I swear, I’m like a walking skeleton if I sound like this.”

“That’s gross!”

I stand back up at the sudden outburst and look towards the other end of the couch; Samantha has a disgusted look stuck on her face.

Confused, I ask her, “What’s wrong?”

She points directly at me and wiggles her finger, “You! You cracking all over there! Ms, uh, Ms Skeleton!”

I raise my eyebrow and cross my arms at her statement, a smug look on my face, “Jealous?”

“I have no reason to be jealous about my bones not being able to crack.”

“Uh huh.” I let out a small chuckle and reach for the bottom of the couch again, “Okay, be careful because this is a bit heavy. Lift on three, move on five, and bring it down on eight.”

“Okay.”

Readjusting my grip, I start the count; the couch comes up easy and we manage to move it from its spot, putting it down on the sparkling, wood floor underneath the carpet. The entire time, I can hear the cute sound of Samantha struggling. As soon as we put the couch back down, she jumps onto the couch and lays down, starting her chain of complaining.

“Lifting that thing was such a workout! I think I’m done lifting for the rest of the week.”

I lean forward on the arm rest, so I’ve hovering just a bit over Samantha’s face, “It’s only Sunday and you’re already saying that?”

Samantha reaches up and takes off my black-rim glasses as she speaks, “Yup. I know I’m not lifting anymore this week.”

Normally, I get really angry when people try to take my glasses off my face without asking be, but I can let her get away with it. Sam’s blushing face is now a simple blur to me; everything’s pretty blurry now actually. From what I’m able to make out, Samantha puts on the glasses and starts looking around.

“Your eyesight sucks. Everything’s all discombobulated and shifted when I put these on,” she points out. She then sits up and looks directly at me, “Do I look cute with glasses on?”

The obvious answer is ‘Yes’ just to make her happy, but I decided to be realistic, “I can’t tell if you’re cute. I can’t see.”
I can’t tell, but I have a feeling that she has her cheeks puffed up, “Jerk. Just for that, you’re not gonna get these back until I’m done cleaning the carpet.”

I laugh and try to pat her on the head; I pat her shoulder, “Be careful with my glasses.”

“I’m the most careful person in the world.”

Just the other day she managed to somehow trip on nothing and landed face first into the couch. With that in mind, I decide to give her another chance and let her walk around blind with my glasses on her face. Following the thin silhouette of her body, I try to keep an eye on her, watching her keep her hands out in front of her as she tries to walk around the house. She’s making small huffs and puffs under her breath, her voice trembling a bit like she’s afraid of something.

She manages to find her way along one of the walls and into the kitchen. Now, the only thing left is to get some of the cleaning supplies from under the sink so she can get out any stains on the carpet. I crawl over the arm rest of the couch and lay down to pass the time.

Maybe she’s starting to get adjusted to the glasses.

I start to have a bit more faith in Samantha. I think that maybe she’s actually being considerate at the fact that she’s wearing my glasses. She is the caring ty–

Mid-sentence, I can hear somebody’s foot skidding across the floor and then falling flat onto the ground like a big SPLAT.

“OWWW!”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. All of that faith and hope I had is now escaping my body.

“D-Don’t worry, Alexis! I’m oka– whoops.”

… I’m not even going to ask what happened. With the series of events that just unfolded and the way this girl is, I already know what happened, so I’m just going to say it, “You’re gonna pay for my next pair of glasses.”

— via Daily Prompt: Careful Careful

It’s finally the weekend; time for me to be as lazy as I want and just lay around on this couch. I yawn loud, my mouth cracking a bit, and stretch out all cross the couch, letting my arms hang off of the sides. I close my eyes and let myself relax, but it quickly comes to an end when I hear a loud beeping going off in the kitchen. I open my eyes half way and stare at the ceiling.

“I forgot Sam was doing laundry.”

I let out a sigh and sit up, looking over the back of the couch. Every weekend, Samantha likes to take some extra time out of the day and do a deep cleaning of the house. She hits every nook, every sharp corner, and all of the far off places she doesn’t usually do during the week. I know Sam’s dream is to be the perfect housewife, but every time I see her trying really hard to keep the house clean, I feel a bit bad that I’m not helping out.

I sit up and look at Sam in the kitchen and notice she’s mopping. I decide to ask her, “Hey, you want me to help you today?”

Samantha quickly look up from her mopping; she has this funny thing where she shakes her hips around when she mops. She spins on the handle of the mop and turns to look at me, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you’re always doing everything.”

I enjoy my downtime, but I don’t like when I feel like I’m useless at time. But when I see Samantha smiling after I said that, I can feel a faint warmth coming from her. She may act like a brat, she may fuss like a kid at times, and she may get on my nerves, but she never means anything bad by it.

With her smile wide on her face, Samantha answers again, “Really, I can do it. I like when I see you taking it easy. It shows I’m doing something right.”

She rests the mop against the counter and slowly walks to me on the couch, the sound of her feet splashing in small puddles reaching my ears. She presses her hands on my cheeks and looks at me directly in my eyes before planting a soft kiss on my forehead. I can’t see my face, but I’m pretty sure I’m blushing red like a tomato.

I swear, if her sweetness could kill, I’d be in constant danger.

“So just relax and watch TV while I finish up here,” she whispers to me. She turns around and skips back to where she placed the mop, “Besides, the fun part is about to happen.”

I want to answer her, but my body is too paralyzed by her; all I can do is nod and lay back down.

I take a deep breath and reach for the remote on the coffee table in front of me, turn on the TV to pass the time. I just lay there and let myself get sucked into the flashing screen, knowing Samantha is capable of doing everything.

A few minutes into me being lazy, I can hear Samantha giving small groans and grunts, “You need help?”

“No, I got it.”

I shrug and keep looking at the TV. Just a few seconds later, a massive splashing sound can be hear in the kitchen. Part of me is starting to get worried, but I don’t want to bother Samantha too much, especially since she’s not asking for help, so I ignore everything.

Brushes scratching against the floor follows the splashing; she must have brought out one of the hard bristle brushes from the closet. Samantha starts laughing for some reason. Hearing her laughter is starting to make me chuckle, so I want to get a look at what’s so funny to her.

I sit up one more time to get a peek, “What’s so fun–”

I stop mid-sentence at what I’m witnessing. The entire kitchen floor is covered in water; it’s slowly reaching out into the living room. With two small broom brushes tied to her feet and her arms folded behind her back, Samantha has somehow found a way to skate across the water. Easily gliding back and forth and all around our kitchen without a care in the world, she doesn’t even notice that I’m watching her. However, even though I should be confused at what I’m seeing, her movements just keep me trapped and left for words.

Her movements flow elegantly and with precise timing and precision, stringing together simple ballet stances and moves. Her hair blows out from behind her, dancing on its own in the gentle breeze she makes from skating. The water beneath her feet waves around her as if she’s controlling it; it splashes around and add an aquatic touch to her performance. She managed to make the kitchen her own personal stage for the time being, and I’m getting a personal show.

Awe-struck and my jaw agape, I watch on. Her performance coming to a end, Samantha end with a final pirouette, landing in a finishing bow. A moment of silence washes over the entire house, but not for long.

I go into a wild cheer and start clapping, “Yeah, Samantha! Woo! You got moves!”

I can tell that my sudden outburst caught her off guard; she quickly looks up at me and her entire face flushes red, her voice trembling with fright, “Y-Y-Y-Y-You saw m-me?!”

“Well, yeah. I am on the couch after all.”

Samantha cover her face and squeals a bit, “I can’t believe you saw me! I can’t believe you saw me! I can’t believe you saw me!”

I lean forward on the couch as I look at her, “Is that a bad thing?”

“I get stage fright!”

“But it’s only me here.”

“That’s even worse! It’s embarrassing when you watch me do things!”

I chuckle a bit, keeping my eyes on Samantha. Who knew somebody who’s so easily embarrassed would have the graceful moves of a professional performer?

 

— via Daily Prompt: Graceful Graceful

“Achoooo! Well, it looks like you need to say home and take care of me!”

Samantha lays in bed, buried deep underneath the blanket. She has the blanket pulled all the way up to her face, showing only half of her face. Strangely enough, seeing her like this makes me realize how big her forehead is; I could probably use it as a mirror if it was able to be waxed and shined.

I just told her about how I have a big meeting late in the afternoon tomorrow, which means I’ll most likely have to spend some extra time at the office. Every once in a while, my superiors like to invite me to their monthly briefings as an outside opinion on certain topics, so honestly, I can’t exactly say no since it’s my bosses. But it does make the paycheck look nice when it comes around to the pay period ending.

And every time I tell Sam that I need to say a bit later than normal, she always puts up a fuss. Last time, she said I was abandoning her like a mother bird pushing their young out the nest to make them fly. I swear, she’s so dramatic on purpose just to get her way. But it’s cute when she gets all childish, so I deal with it.

Looking at her hiding in the bed, I cross my arms and instinctively begin tapping my foot on the floor, giving her a stern look, “So, you’d rather have me miss an entire day of work just so you don’t have to spend an extra hour by yourself?”

Sam quickly nods her head and get more comfortable under the blanket, “Yup– Wait! I mean, n-no!” Quickly pulling back her statement, she lets out an obvious fake sneeze and rubs her nose, “I’m sick!”

She’s playing that card, huh?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, getting ready for the onslaught of stupid acting that’s about to happen. She’s going for the “I’m sick” facade. This never ends on a good note.

Confused by what I’m doing, Samantha asks me, “What are you doing?”

I simply shake my head and open my eyes, “Nothing. Just taking a breather. Okay, so why are you sick? Feeling warm or somethin’?”

Without a moment to waste, Samantha shakes her head and pats her forehead, “I think I have a fever.”

I decide to play along, “Well, thinking isn’t a definite answer. Let me come check.”

I get on the bed and crawl from the foot of it all the way to where Samantha’s resting her head. I lean in a bit and press my forehead on hers, making it easy for me to tell whether or not she really has one or not.

She rolls her eyes up at me and blurts out, “If you’re trying to kiss me, my mouth isn’t on my forehead.”

I playfully pluck her on the nose as I back away from checking her forehead, “I don’t kiss a sick person. And you don’t feel hot, so you must not have a fever.”

Samantha rubs the tip of her nose, where I plucked, and tries to give another excuse, “I-It’s my stomach. I think I ate something bad.”

“Well, the last few things we ate were made by you and I’m feeling fine. Are you saying your cooking is bad?”

After that remark, Samantha quickly shoots up from laying down to defend her skills as a home chef and yells, “Hell no! My food is top tier; even master chefs would beg for my cooking recipes!”

Well, if she reacted like that, then she’s obviously fine. I’ll give her one last chance to see if she’ll come clean.

I’m assuming she remembered that she’s suppose to be sick, so Samantha quickly lays back down and hides herself under the blanket, giving an attempted at a fake cough, “I have a sore throat.”

I push off of the bed back onto my feet and just stand at her bedside looking at her, “Then make some hot tea with lemon and honey.”

Whimpering and kicking her feet, Samantha tries to plea for an alternative, “But I want you to make it! Your tea is better than mine!”

“It’s just dropping a tea packet in a cup of hot water!”

“But I know that when you make it, it’s made with love and honey…”

Somehow, I can feel my face just swell red with a blush of embarrassment from her sappy lines. I cross my arms and look away, trying to avoid making eye contact, “S-Shut up!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Samantha giggling and sticking her tongue out a bit with a simple wink. I finally push forward and decide this needs to end, “You’re not sick, so just drop it.”

Samantha quick gets on her knees and wraps herself in the blanket like a cloak, biting on it a bit to show her frustration, “But I’m lovesick!”

I let out an exasperated sigh and shake my head, “You’re acting like I’m not coming back. You’re not sick, I’m going to that meeting, and you’ll be fine. Okay?”

Samantha crosses her arms and lets out a huff, puffing up her cheeks afterward, “Fine. But can I ask something?”

“What?”

“Since I’m not sick, can you give me a kiss?”

“No.”

Ending it on that note, I slowly turn around and head out of our bedroom. As I’m leaving, I can hear Samantha whimpering and whining about not getting a kiss. I shake my head and a small smile comes on my face, “Such a spoiled brat.”

via Daily Prompt: Facade Facade