parmesan mashed potatoes

i want this to
last forever, or
at least for a very
very long time,
she says as we're
eating dinner.
and you say, what
are you talking
about, this meal?
whew. i'm already
stuffed,
although i could
use a small slice
of chocolate cake
if you want to
share a piece.
she rolls her eyes,
and takes a long
sip of her wine. she
leans her elbows
onto the table
brushes the hair
away from her face
and makes eye contact.
no, this, us, our
relationship, our
whatever it is that
we have going on here.
how come you
aren't eating
your mashed potatoes,
you say. don't be
so selfish, slide
some over here.
you nudge your plate
towards hers making
them clink romantically
together. she uses
her spoon and shovels
a mound of creamy
parmesan potatoes
onto your plate.
that's good, thanks.
i think we have
a good thing going
here, don't you? she
says. it's so rare
these days that two
people meet and get
along as well as
we do, don't you
think? you nod yes,
hmmm, hmmm. you arch
your eyebrows to
confirm what she's
saying. you start to
eat the potatoes.
still hot, you say.
wow. i can't believe
you don't like these,
good god these are
good. just have a
taste, go on. you
put your fork out to
her but she shakes
her head no. more for
me, then, you tell
her. more for me.
now what were we
talking about?