Italian Lucite Button

It is Wednesday, and the day has stretched along endlessly, with foiled project after foiled project piling up in my workroom like a particularly unsightly Midwestern state fair bumper-car crash. I have left each wreck as-is while my frustration mounts, and am ready for something simple and comforting. A plate of hot, creamy fried turnip cakes sound like just the cure…but only if someone else cooks and serves them to me discreetly, generously, and sweetly. I throw my battered black leather jacket on over my worn and paint-splattered work overalls and my ombre rust and ocher plaid lightweight wool shirt with Italian tortoise-colored lucite buttons, nuzzle Francy and Lulu good-bye, and stroll over to Big Lantern for some fried rejuvenation. It is good to walk away from my heaps of half-finished projects, and I whistle as I turn the corner.
“I don’t want you, be no slave,
I don’t want you, work all day,
I don’t want you to be sad and blue,
I just wanna make love to you.
I can tell by the way that you baby talk,
I can see by the way that you switch and walk,
I can tell by the way that you treat your man,
But I could love you baby, it’s a cryin’ shame.”
(By W. Dixon)

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