You're creepy," Talia says, very certain of herself and, okay, I am...affronted.
She comes into my kitchen, eats all of my pasta and now she's telling me I'm creepy whilst I slave over remaking my entire meal (of plain pasta that takes ten minutes tops but it's still hard okay)?
Not on, Talia Alpin. Not on at all.
"I'm not creepy!" I defend, lip jutting out as I accidentally pour too much pasta into the pot. Oh well, looks like I'm eating cold pasta for breakfast tomorrow.
Talia's face might as well spell out 'I am patronizing you right now' because she slowly raises an eyebrow at me (seriously, like... escalator slow) and says in a ridiculously even voice, "You're literally creating an entire project around someone and he doesn't even know."
I crumple up the empty packet of pasta and (try to) throw it into the trash.
It misses.
Fuck.
"It's art. Art is not creepy."
Slight lie. I've certainly seen some creepy art in those books I've been reading lately– but Talia doesn't need to know that.
"When did you become such an artist, huh? I thought you only cared about fish."
I stalk over to the plastic that fluttered mockingly to the floor and shove it in the trash, consider throwing myself in there too (or Talia) but decide against it and instead turn back to my boiling mound of carbohydrate mush in the pot with a noncommittal noise.
"I'm kinda behind on fish," I admit, feeling desperately guilty for it because my marine life friends (my crew-staceans as they're referred to on the forum) have been messaging me saying they miss my fish meme page, but I've continued being pretty much MIA as of late.
"I've been reading up a lot on art lately, though! It's kinda cool," I say, feeling a certain warmth emerge at the simple thought of the subject.
Which is weird, considering I've never felt that before.
Smiling to myself, I take a wooden spoon off our marble counter and try to make sense of the gargantuan mess of melting pasta and cloudy boiling water in my cooking pot.
"You're studying art at university–I'd sure hope you'd think that," Talia quips and I pause my stirring of the goop just to glare at her until she asks, "But really? No fish?"
"Not no fish. Come on Talia, who do you think I am?"
I spent four hours last night watching documentaries and then another two getting in an intense discussion in the comment section of one over what exactly is the coolest fish (I figured it was the porcupine puffer because they're so fucking cute–but not everyone agreed).
"I just don't want to draw them anymore," I say simply, giving up on my congealed mess and opting to order food in instead. The first batch went so well... thanks, Talia.
I'm flicking through a menu I have bookmarked for a nearby Chinese restaurant online when Talia asks, "You mean you like portraiture better?"
I crinkle my nose in thought. Maybe. A little.
"Ehhhh."
"Or you like Kai Adkins better?"
Sending Talia daggers over my phone, I continue having a crisis over which chicken to buy.
"Yes, now shut up and leave me alone–important business."
Do I want sweet and sour or honey chilli chicken?
YOU ARE READING
Mabel
Humor[See you don't look like a stalker but I don't really know what they look like, I assume kinda gross and not nice and you look nice, really nice not nice as in kind, though, you look pretty mean but you're attractive-not that I'm attracted to you bu...
