Rib by Shaima Saleh

Posted on April 19, 2014 by


 “I think I’ll have the ribs, thank you.”


Looking down her menu, Sarah raised her eyebrows in irritated disbelief at Noah. “Thank god this isn’t breakfast or I would have suffered the sight of you trying to ingest sausages.”


She then looked up to what seemed to be a boulder of muscle taking human form in the waiter, “I’ll have the salmon with herbs, please.”


“Ribs for the primate, salmon for the serpent snake.” Muttered the waiter under his breath, and swiftly took off to the stunned looks of Noah.


“Did he just call me a primate?” exclaimed Noah in disbelief.


“I’m more surprised at the fact that he possesses mental ability. You wouldn’t think it with all that flesh.”

“But, of course, other than that, you’re fine with what he said about you.”

“Well, he clearly thinks I have an advantage over my loving husband who orders ribs on our anniversary like an uncivilised chimp.”


“You know, I doubt there are civilised chimps.”


“What about you brother and his wife?”


“Yeah, you’re right. They could help. Mind you, they don’t have my agility,” he replied with a head-shake of self-satisfaction.


“You’re not serious.”


“Well, why not? I’m obviously not overpowering him with my wits.”


“Yeah, he’s already overpowered you with his.”


“So you agree that I have to even everything out.”


“Can you please not try to restore your lost middle-school glory now? Can’t we just for once have a nice anniversary?”


“I can see you’ve been struggling through the many past 1 anniversary.”


“The first step is acknowledging the problem, eh?”


With that, Sarah got off her seat and took her purse along.


“Where are you going? I thought we were doing self-counselling now,” said Noah with feigned enthusiasm.


“That’s for you to do, dear. I’ll go fix my face while you’re at it.”


“Awwwwh, I can’t tell you how secure it makes me feel to see you acknowledging your chronic face issue. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for you to get over your misplaced vanity. I am so proud of you.”


“Excuse me?”


“Oh, you’re excused.”


With an angry puff, Sarah walked to the restroom, mentally picturing all the ways in which she could utilise Noah’s skin as accessories.


Sarah reached the restroom and slammed the door shut, pulled down the toilet lid, and sat down. She fetched her smokes and lighter, lit a cigarette, and took a deep breath of smoke.


“How secure it makes me feel…” she said, mimicking him. “That insecure little whiny intolerable mass of concentrated immaturity!” She sighed in defeat and pulled her hair back giving her scalp a stretch not really needed. Up until the last breath in her cigarette, she kept working her scalp out for its life. She, then, got up and flushed her cigarette, and with it every last sense of practicality she thought she possessed. She walked out into the dining area and headed to her table.


“I’d settle for a prick, it’s not past me,” she addressed Noah. “But not an idiot for one.”


He stared at her with an expression of dumbness fresh out of the oven.


“I can’t believe I smoked myself thin for you.”


“You smoke?” He replied, dumbfounded as dumbfoundedness goes.


She picked up a rib and smeared it all across his face, threw it in his lap, and left with no sign of relief to be gauged anywhere around her soul.

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