vitriol1

I used to be very close with a young woman from South Africa. She was, I think, the only true friend I've ever had a sexual relationship with. She was tall and curvy, she spoke and wrote Commonwealth English, she was creative and passionate, she imposed European table manners upon me and she had a nice family. I never came so close to marrying a girl.

But... she had been admitted into the country on her father's student visa. She was looking for a fast-track green card because she said she couldn't go back to live in Cape Town again. I didn't want to put myself in an awkward position. I didn't want a sham marriage and I didn't want anyone to ever think it was a sham marriage. I didn't want to live with the doubt.

She found a man and married less than a year after we split. I guess I can't feel as though I was wrong to be cautious. But I do regret losing her.

She hated cereal and French breakfasts. She would make traditional English breakfasts for us every morning. Toast, sliced tomato fried with mushrooms, and a fried egg on top. Tea, of course. And conversation.

I bought an English manual toaster, an antique replica, several months after we split. I hadn't thought about why until today.

I made myself an English breakfast this morning with silken tofu instead of egg. I ate with my knife in my right hand, fork in my left, mopping up little bits of tofu with bits of toast. I had a cup of Earl Grey from a tin I haven't opened in almost four years. It was still very good.