Parfait Cups

Sorry no post yesterday-- it was a holiday for Andrew & we went to the lake... but I do have a teeny bit of writing from my childhood story.... more later maybe. But definitely more another day.

......


I remember I used to love to look in the weekend newspaper circular ads from Sears and JC Penny at the pictures of the refrigerators. Other kids might gaze rapturously at the ladies in padded or strapless bras and white panties; I was fascinated by what those mock-ups of refrigerators held: entire roasts on a platter surrounded by fancy potatoes, puddings in fancy parfait cups (even though I didn't know that's what the cups were called then.) Frosted three layer cakes topped in the center with a cherry. Gallons of milk and entire meals arranged on clean shelves. There were never any condiments in those advertisement refrigerators, and in contrast, all that there ever seemed to be in our refrigerators were condiments and leftovers going dry. Leftover hamburger helper, macaroni and cheese. Maybe a six pack of Dr. Pepper, definitely a six pack or two of beer. The advertisement refrigerators reminded me somewhat of my grandmother's fridge-- when we would visit (which was rare after my parents split and our move south because she lived so far away) there would be frosting in light blue containers that I would dip my finger into and lick off. Diet Rite sodas that tasted sweeter somehow than regular sodas and were in flavors like "apple."

But the ad refrigerators were exotic. Panties I had seen. Refrigerators like that were erotic.

Once when I was about eleven I spent the night at one of my school friend's houses. She was a Girl Scout (which my mother refused to let me join, saying she had done that already with my sisters). The girl had short blonde hair and was taller than me. We ate dinner around their mahogany table; fancy china that matched, silverware arranged out to the side of the plates, with real place mats and everyone gathered around the table, talking. There were courses; the TV was far away and no one resented not sitting in front of it. Everyone in the family was there. I don't really remember what the food was; apparently that was not the most eventful moment of the meal. But what I do remember, very clearly, is that at the end of the meal the mother brought out chocolate pudding in those fancy parfait cups, chilled, topped with whipped cream and a cherry. A long spoon that reached all the way to the bottom of the cup. Surely, had I been privvy to the workings of the refrigerator in that house, there would have been a striking resemblance to the advertisement flyers I poured over every Sunday. I knew that somewhere there were entire roasts waiting to be eaten, and never any half-eaten hunks of moldy cheese.