Billy Ivey’s Open Letters to Trojan, Part 7

11-18-06
Dear Trojan…
A hormone ate my dinner roll.

We were having dinner the other night — me, my three children, my wife and the fetus — when I asked: “Hey, is there any more bread? I didn’t get a roll.”

You’d have thought my words had been: “I have been thinking about having an affair with the African-American checkout guy at the Shell gas station…”

The look I received was without description. And it cannot be explained. Not with words, anyway.

The fact is, I never received a dinner roll. My oldest daughter ate one. My son dug a hole in his with his pointer-finger and stuck green beans in the middle of it. The one-year old gnawed on hers for a few minutes and I found it an hour later stuck to the side of the fridge.

My wife ate two. I watched her. In fact, witnessing the butter melt over top of the second one is what triggered my initial inquiry…

“What do you mean, ‘Is there any more bread’? You ate your bread…”

No I didn’t.

“You most certainly did.”

“Nope. I had two helpings of beans, but I never got a roll.”

“Yes you did! I made 5 rolls… you must’ve already eaten yours.”

“You made 5 rolls?”

“Of course I made 5 rolls. There are 5 of us in this family!”

“But you had two…”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?”

“You had two rolls.”

“I did not!”

“I promise. I just saw you eat two ro…”

(crash, bang, car noises and then silence)

The kids and I cleaned the kitchen together, I gave them baths and then put them to bed. All in all, it was a pretty quiet evening.

I ended up eating the roll that was stuck to the refrigerator, so everything turned out OK in the end.

My wife came back home a couple of hours later. She said she just needed to get away for a while. She and the fetus stopped for ice cream on the way home.

I aksed if she brought any back for me, but I don’t guess she heard me…

*****
12-06-06
Dear Trojan…
Her “milk ducts” are forming.

(thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou)

I still do not like you, and I hope bad things happen to you and your company.

*****

12-20-06
Dear Trojan…

Happy Holidays, morons. It’s a good thing Baby Jesus came into the world to save your ashy, black souls.