A Guy Named Pea
I met him, this Pea guy online (that’s how he signed his name) @pickapea.com, a site for those of us who have thrown in the towel. Figuring he’d be just right for a Princess like me, I began to explore his background, my first stop being to Google “mattress,” and there I found him squashed between Verlo and Tempurpedic. The only information gleaned was that he was green and well, small and round.
“Yes, that I am. We do not choose our parents. Mine were also green, small and round.”
After that we hit it off and made a date to meet in the flesh because I too was small, green and round, though my parents were not. It’s true, we do not choose our parents. After agreeing upon a tete a tete at a local café (“Veggies Forever”), I set about polishing myself to meet an actual Pea.
I wore a killer girdle so as to appear less round, and I powdered my body from toe to top. My mini-frock was embroidered with a turnip green motif. My feet were shod in 9” heels. The last thing I wanted was to look like a cougar frump.
Okay, so he was easy to spot in the café, especially since his green self waited in a bright red chair near the door. “You must be the Princess,” he squealed. “After all these years, it’s great to finally get together. You’re not nearly as green as me!”
The waitperson came to take our order. “I’ll have a fresh salad with a side of peas,” I laughed, thinking the joke would let him know I was ready, willing and able to hook up for life. To my jaded eyes, he looked good enough to eat.
“We’re out of peas,” snapped the waitperson. “Why don’t you just eat the green, small round thing next to you on the red chair?”
It made sense to me, for Princesses everywhere understand that a pea in hand, or under a mattress, is of no use whatsoever. He shrieked a tad when I placed him on my tongue and in no time at all, swallowed him whole. I read somewhere that chewing on a first date is bad form.
Whatever, the Pea belongs to me and me alone. Fair enough?
