After almost 37 years of marriage, the inevitable has happened….
My husband, Steve, has a new love interest.
I’m not completely shocked since he’s been pining after this steamy temptress for years. But what’s surprising is what she looks like. I always thought if Steve was going to leave me, it would be for a tall, dark, exotic creature. However, this gal is short, pale, and doughy.
My guy sure has a type.
However, what’s shocking is that he isn’t even trying to hide her from me. She’s been hanging out in our kitchen all week, as Steve attends to her every need.
Her name is Sally and Steve recently acquired her from his sister, Donna.
Now, before you say, Whoa, whoa, whoa, what sort of sick games are you guys playing over there?
Let me explain.
Sally is a sourdough starter.
Apparently, it’s a thing to name your starter.
Bread people, am I right?
Also, you’re probably thinking, Hey I thought Steve was all about the soup (#SouperSteve), or his true love, Costco Hot Dogs.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Steve still has strong feelings for savory broths and nitrates in a bun, but in his heart, it’s Sally he’s been longing for.
And by the way he gazes into her yeasty soul; it’s clear this is no fling.
What really hurts is how much time they spend together. Every two hours, the two of them are stretching and folding, folding and stretching.
As if I, with my creaky joints and arthritic knee, could even compete.
Don't even get me started on all the gifts Steve is showering upon her.
A few nights ago, I woke in the middle of the night to find Steve scrolling on his phone.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice groggy with sleep.
“Shhh, go back to sleep,” he said. “I’m just buying some rice flour for Sally.”
When was the last time Steve bought me rice flour?
Last night around 2am, I reached over for Steve, but he was gone.
Tiptoeing down the stairs, I heard a stirring in the kitchen. There was Steve practically whisking Sally away with his newly purchased Danish whisker. Oh so gently, he added a scoop of flour and a dash of water. Sally bubbled with pleasure.
I cleared my throat.
“Hi, Honey,” he said.
I’m pretty sure he was talking to Sally.
“What are you doing up at this hour?” I asked.
“This is the critical part of the process,” he explained. “Sally needs to be fed every four hours.” Steve smiled and nodded. “You are looking gooo-oooo-oood!”
That was definitely for Sally.
And so it continued with the late-night rendezvous (that Sally was a hungry gal) and the endless array of gifts. Steve swears it’s not that serious but he just bought Sally a bench scraper, so you tell me.
A few days ago, Steve moved Sally from a glass dish to a banneton, which is a fancy bowl for sourdough starters. In breadworld, it’s the equivalent of buying your mistress a condo.
“She needs to be in here,” Steve explained as he lovingly lowered her into the bowl, caressing her edges, while I stood watching the two of them.
Was I in a fermented throuple?
But the final straw was yesterday, when I came home to a house that was as hot as a furnace. “What the-?”
Steve patted my sweaty shoulder. “We need to keep the house warm so Sally will rise,” he said. “Temperature is very important to her.”
YOU KNOW WHO ELSE TEMPERATURE IS IMPORTANT TO, STEVE?!
But then, this morning, something wonderful happened.
Steve transferred Sally from her cozy condo to a standard size baking dish. “It’s time,” he said.
As Steve slid Sally into that 500 degree oven, I smiled sadistically.
Sayonara Sally!
But two hours later, she reappeared in the middle of our kitchen table. Steve had sliced her up real nice.
I took a bite.
Oh, my!
I couldn’t decide what I enjoyed more, her crunchy exterior or her soft warm interior, both of which were slathered in butter.
Steve and I locked eyes.
“I love you,” I whispered.
That was definitely for Sally.
— January Gordon Ornellas
January Gordon Ornellas is a comedy writer whose stories include everything from colonoscopies to triathlons (equally torturous). Her article, “Rookie’s Triathlon Lessons,” appeared in the LA Times (June 2019). Two of her other stories, “Gobble, Gobble” and “Almost Taken,” were recently published in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Laughter is the Best Medicine (April 2020), and another four can be found in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Too Funny! (April 2022). She won honorable mention in the global humor category in the 2022 Erma Bombeck Writing Competition and is currently writing a novel, Diabolical, a dark comedy about the seedy underbelly of girls’ softball, and completing a collection of humorous essays, My Above Average Colon and Other Midlife Adventures. January also enjoys writing for her blog (midlifebloomer.com), traveling and spending time with her husband and two adult daughters.