The Color Yellow

It is probably just me, or my maddening state that whenever I look at that vibrant yellow I could sense something changing--like patterns swirling and figures sneering up at me, challenging me to stealthily approach you and devour you without abandon.

There are things about your appearance that nobody knows but me, or ever will. "Behind that outside pattern the dim shapes get clearer every day. It is always the same shape, only very numerous," was what I thought. But then again, those thoughts were not entirely my own. I have read it somewhere, it was about a woman who was faced with a different sort of irritating, charming, and maddening yellow thing. Right now, you are that irritating, charming and maddening yellow thing for me.

At first look, you are just a blast of yellow, made brighter by the contrast of your creamy white body and little bit of golden sand-y brown bottom. But beneath the gloss of your sauce, the crescent slices seem to move counterclockwise in a hypnotizing way, beckoning me again and again as if to say, 'Look at me, don't shift your gaze. You will be entranced to eat me."

Why do you taunt me with that cheery and appetizing color?

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Express Cheesecake: 

Mango Madness

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In the end, I had to do something to wipe off the yellowness off your face. So I did. Without bothering to change utensils, I used my teaspoon to peel away every yellow layer I could find.

At last! It's all gone! I looked at whatever remained of you with a contented smile on my face. My well-meaning house companion walked in and gasped when he saw me: smiling as if dazed, my mouth smeared with yellow, white, and golden sand-y brown, holding a teaspoon licked clean, and in front of me, an empty cake platter.

"What is the matter?" he cried. "For God's sake, what are you doing!"

"I've taken them all out at last. All that yellow is gone," said I, "in spite of you and what mother said of my intolerance, you can't stop me from eating cheesecake!"

Now why should that man have fainted? But he did. I was concerned for him, but I felt too heavy to move. The lactose thing has probably started acting up in my tummy, so that I had to creep over to him and see if he was alright.

The End.

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The story/tone of this blog entry was inspired by Charlotte Perkins Gilman's The Yellow Wallpaper and Ms. Bel, the kind and lovely lady who commissioned me to make her a cheesecake. For the concept of this post, I combined my recent patron de gâteau's lactose intolerance with Gilman's female protagonist's gradual madness over her room's yellow wallpaper to come up with a narration that is similar to the short story author's writing style.

I've always seen one's relationship with desserts to be both dangerous, comforting, and sometimes, predatory. You know it's that optional part of the meal, but you tend to eat it before everything else.


BIBLIOGRAPHY

Gilman, Charlotte Perkins. The Yellow Wallpaper. Taken August 31, 2012 from the World Wide Web: http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=GilYell.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=1&division=div1. Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library (2007).