I was just about to back out of my garage when my wife of almost a year ran out with a piece of paper in her hand. Her peach-colored towel was wrapped tightly around her wet body. She had rushed out of the bathroom, I could tell. All smiles, she ran to me and handed me the paper.
“Mo – mozza – what is this?”
Naana pointed out in her sing-song voice.
“And this is…?”
I asked again, pointing to the next item on the list.
“That’s Parmesan cheese.”
I looked up into her bright face and sighed. She said cheese so beautifully.
“What’s all this for?”
I asked, scanning through the list.
Bell Pepper (Red, Yellow, Green)
Butter (Not margarine!)
I folded the paper and shoved it in the glove compartment.
My hand had by then gone up to massage my temple.
I sighed again and turned off the engine. Naana had made it a habit to try out new things in our kitchen at the expense of my lean income. Last week it was torti-something and chicken salsa. Home-made pizza the week before that! I took in her petite frame as I got out the car and leaned back on the door, staring down into her baby-face.
“Lasaanyis nso nye abaadze?”
The hint of a frown crossed her features. She pouted and I almost pulled her against me for a kiss, but I held back.
“Eheh? Tell me.”
“Lasagna! Not Lasaanyis!”
I almost laughed, but I knew she would not have taken that too well. She grabbed my tie and started playing with the end, twisting it around her nicely manicured fingers. She had such delicate fingers that cooked so well. I swallowed and looked back down at her. She still had a pout.
“Okay, is that what will be for dinner?”
“But what about some ampesi and abom?”
She dropped both hands suddenly and looked as if she was going to cry. The sudden movement had loosened the towel’s grip on her chest and her fair breasts were almost exposed. I swallowed again.
“Aren’t you tired of the local everyday foods? Lasagna takes just an hour to make.”
She said, inching closer and batting her eyes at me. I lifted my left hand and checked the time. It was still very early and I could not remember why I was leaving at that time. I had a full hour to spare, didn’t I? I swallowed.
What had my dad said about Fante women again? Something about their sweet tongue? He had loved my mom so much her death was what sent him hurrying to the grave after her. Fante women! I looked down at Naana’s almost bare breasts. I love my wife.
She took my hand and led me back inside.
Closing the door behind us and taking another look at the clock, I counted the hours; about 12 hours to a meal of Lasaanyis, and just a few minutes to another reason for being late to work.