Not the Meal

You saw me as I am: not the sweet loving wife, not the gentle, nurturing mother, but the real me, three-eyed, green-skinned, horned, eight foot two. Remember when the cat disappeared? She was yummy. Remember when our son was anemic? Three guesses why.

Now see me as you need to see me; you’d never survive the truth. But wait: you’ll never survive anyway. I have the recipe. You’re the protein.

But wait again: I see you as you are: not the sweet, loving husband, the gentle, nurturing father, but the real you, not the meal after all, but the cook!