White Chocolate

I prefer white chocolate, said Weird Pig.

He was at the restaurant.

You prefer white chocolate to what? said Tegan.

She was his date.

Oh, said Weird Pig. I prefer it to all other forms of chocolate.

Are you joking? she said. White chocolate’s not even chocolate. It’s sugar that’s made to have the mouthfeel of chocolate.

To me, he said, it mouthfeels divine. And it tastes like a dream.

Weird Pig smiled to himself. He thought of white chocolate and caught a glimpse out the window of his wife and soulmate, Nancy Pig, as she walked past the restaurant.

Fuck, he said.

What’s wrong? Tegan said.

Nothing. Just my soulmate.

Your soulmate?

And wife. My god, she sucks. At least our kids weren’t with her.

Your kids? You didn’t tell me you had a family.

They’re not a family. They’re a bunch of pigs.

But you’re a pig.

Exactly. Pig marriages aren’t recognized by law. It’s a joke.

Does your wife think that?

Probably.

Weird Pig took a big slurp of his tomato soup.

Where were we? he said. Oh, yes. White chocolate. It’s simply divine.

It simply isn’t. I’m going to go.

No, don’t. Please.

Tegan reached for her purse. She had placed it on the table in front of her, when she’d sat down and realized her date was a pig. She’d thought he might try to bite her. She’d thought she could use the purse to block him, if he tried to bite her.

Weird Pig placed his hoof on Tegan’s hand.

Trudy, he said, let me confess to something. White chocolate isn’t the only thing I find delicious.

I’ve heard enough, Tegan said.

Darling, said Nancy Pig, you haven’t heard nearly enough.

They had not seen her come. She stood before them with a notepad, and had on a restaurant uniform. Because she was a pig, even on her hind legs she stood only as high as Tegan’s waist. Still, she struck an imposing figure. She was a formidable sow.

I have been caught, sighed Weird Pig. But I see that you, my wife, appear to work here, so you cannot stop me from enjoying my date without causing a scene and losing your job. I trust I am not mistaken?

No, said Nancy. You are not mistaken. You swine. You fucking liar.

Now, now, said Weird Pig. Watch that tone. Need I fill out a comment card?

I need to go, said Tegan, reaching again for her purse.

Now it was Nancy who placed her hoof on Tegan’s hand.

I think you should stay, said Nancy. Stay right there and have a party. Is it your birthday?

I’m sorry. What?

What? Oh, nothing. It’s just that this restaurant is where my husband brings me every year on my birthday. Isn’t it, dear?

Oh, please, said Weird Pig. Are you drunk?

Of course I’m drunk. How about a round of drinks for the pig table? How about I refill the fucking trough over here?

Weird Pig took a deep breath and said, That sounds kind of nice, actually. We’ll have eight shots of rum and a vodka gimlet. Trombley and I will split the gimlet. The shots are for me.

How about, said Nancy, I bring you a shotgun blast to the stomach?

Nancy, please. Tremé is the most elegant woman I could find on short notice, and this is the first date I’ve been on since Farmer Dan tried to have me castrated. He came really close this time. So for the sake of my self-esteem, go get the gimlet and the shots. We’d also like four pounds of white chocolate, and I’ll order more food, too. I’d like French fries brought out in one of the baskets they put in the deep fryer. One of the baskets? You know? With the handles? That they put in the deep fryer? Just put it on the table. I’ll work around the basket wires. And whatever else sounds good, I’ll have that, too. Trapman will have a baked potato. No condiments. She hates them. Isn’t that’s right, m’lady?

But when the pigs looked over to where Tegan was supposed to be, that was just what they saw: a potato. It had a face drawn on it, one that looked like Tegan’s face. The clothes drawn on it were the same clothes she’d been wearing.

Truman? said Weird Pig. Are you all right?

His date did not respond.

Elegance! cried Nancy.

She was laughing.

Weird Pig looked at Potato Tegan with sorrow in his eyes. He hadn’t been this embarrassed since a few hours before then, when he’d thrown up on a baby, at the emergency room.

I am floored, he said.

Floored! cried Nancy, still laughing.

I had no idea she could will herself into potato form. That’s peasant shit. And her purse is gone?

This is why you can’t trust women, said Nancy Pig. Not human women. This is what they do when you’re not looking. She probably has her own reality show.

Weird Pig said, I thought there must be something wrong when she cast doubt on white chocolate. But this?

He shook his head.

I was only trying to get my masculinity back.

I know, said Nancy. But you won’t get it back by fucking that potato. You have to eat it.

I don’t know if I can do that. She’s a mature woman. She’s been to college.

Honey, said Nancy Pig. If there’s anything I know about you, it’s that you can eat a potato that’s been to college.

Maybe I can. My god. You’ve always believed in me. And look how I’ve repaid you.

Don’t dwell on it, sweetie. It doesn’t look good on you. Just stay put. I’ll take this bitch to the kitchen. Your shots and gimlet are on their way.

With a sigh, Nancy marched to the kitchen, potato in hand.

Buckle up, she said to the staff inside. It’s gonna be a long night.

Read more of Robert Long Foreman’s Weird Pig stories here.