A Discerning Eye (continued)

Tonight my lover is coming over. I shower, anoint myself with the rose oil, throw on an old dress of dark blue cotton. I prepare a platter of French bread, brie, olives. Daniel is incapable of large meals. Instead he eats selectively, less discerning than disinterested. His dislike of food annoys me. It's womanish, fussy, reminiscent of Victorian ladies stuffing themselves before a banquet. Though of course there's none of the effete in his lack of appetite, it only seems so. Ah, appearances.

Continued

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