If I Hadn't Married Your Father

— excerpt —

A woman, sitting on the edge of a bed.

Woman: … if I hadn't married your father, if I hadn't talked to Peter.
Also, why didn't he kiss me instead of gazing at me with his saucer-eyes?
When I was a little girl, I couldn't eat the fried fish that was on my plate because it was looking at me with its gazing eyes.
Peter was looking at me with his fried fish gazing eyes.
I'm hungry.
Yesterday, we ate shepherd's pie. I like shepherd's pie. You don't need to chew it over.
I waited for too long, for him to kiss me. So in the end I married your father. You know I asked your grandmother? I couldn't make a decision. Like in restaurants, with the menu.
We don't have a menu here. You get what you get and you don't get upset.
Your grandmother used to say that, that you get what you get and you don't get upset.
I'm sorry, my little girl. I'm rambling.
When I was a little girl, I was afraid my stomach would rumble while the teacher was silent.
You're so silent. Cat got your tongue? Yours too?
Open your mouth. Let me check.
Why don't you open it?
You got your father's tight-lipped mouth. The same thin, silent lips. His became thinner and thinner.
Noses get bigger when you get older, ears too, but lips fade away.
What would the wolf say, here, with his nose and ears getting bigger, and his lips fading away?
The better to smell you with, my child.
The better to listen to you with, my dear.
The better to keep silent with.
He had thin lips like a wolf.
I'm hungry.