variations on a domestic scene
It was time to send Juanita to fetch Hudson from his homework apartment for dinner. I could just send a holographic message, but sending the maid makes it feel so much more homey.
Hudson would be delighted with the Rembrandt I made for dinner, and the Murano glass for desert! I placed the painting on a serving tray and messaged Jon to see if he’d be joining us. He appeared back in a tweed three-piece, “Give me ten minutes, Michelle Marie, my love!”
The imported electric stove produced a perfect imitation of the crackling smell of burning cedar as Hudson’s blond head bobbled its way to the beautiful Meissonnie table— a prime rococo piece.
“Ugh!” he whined, “oil on canvass again?!”
“Oh love, I thought you’d be delighted! It’s a Rembrandt, your favorite! And I even imported some murano glass for desert! What would my prince prefer?”
“At school today Jackson had a Persian rug hand-made by actual impoverished children. It was delectable. Why don’t we ever have anything exotic like that? And Mallory had ancient Chinese field armor for snack. All we ever eat is the product of deceased caucasian males. I yearn for something innovative, something fresh!”
“Oh love, and you shall have it! I’ll send Juanita to the Met pronto! Such a sophisticated aesthete must explore his palate, must indulge his every sense. I’ll have her select three samples from the African Art collection and three from the Japanese Arms and Armors exhibit. And just to make sure, I’ll have her acquire some jewels from the Middle Eastern collection.”
“Thank you, mumsie. I simply couldn’t bear any more oil on canvass tonight!”
Jon appeared behind us, flashing his dashing smile, “What? Sick of Rembrandt? Well, you know me, I’m a blue-blooded American, I like my Rembrandt oil on canvass as much as the next guy… none for you means more for me!”
We gathered around the table, content in our cocoon of beauty.
