Masala Massacre

Working at two companies is getting to me; my weekdays taken up til 7 and I work split shifts on the weekends. My neighbors have been clucking at me for getting home at 9, and I just smile and explain that it's work.

At that time of day, the traditional open air markets are usually closed, or it's extremely slim pickings. A modern supermarket generally has a pathetic produce section the size of my office desk, and is several times more expensive than a market. Either way, I'd have to walk at least 15-20 minutes there and back, and the anticipation is working me into a foul mood. On the bright side, Nathan's waiting for me, but I notice his lips look pretty chapped.

"Hey, hey, you have some blood on your lip."

"Huh?"

Frustrated at his typical clueless boyness, I've errupted into full-blown Nagging Shrew mode.

"There's blood in the corner of your lip, you doof." I toss some chapstick at him and stalk away into the kitchen, where I know there's no food in the fridge, but I hope that if I look hard enough, genuis will strike me with a brillant way to combine shallots, condensed milk, and pineapple juice.

"Oh, that's not blood."

"Um, it's that red crusty stuff in the corner of your mouth."

"No, that's..." And then it dawns on me.

"YOU WENT TO TANDOOR WITHOUT ME?" I'm so hungry I momentarily considered attacking his face to get at the masala sauce, (which was utterly an gross and digusting impulse but I was actually considering it, and am ashamed).

Nathan pauses. "I ordered out." Egads, decadence upon unimaginable decadence! Our relationship was on the line! The monstruous betrayal of it all! The starving waif trudging home after a day at the mines to find a shameless boyfriend licking his masala-smeared chops!

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and pointed at the table. "I got you some."