A Kitchen Musings Fanfiction

"You've got to be kidding me! All those weeks of flagrant neglect that I took with good humour, and THIS is how you repay me?"

Her face sinks dejectedly. "Brian, I'm really sorry to do this to you, but the cast party is tonight. I love having you around, but not all of my friends are quite as pro-gnome as I am. Tell you what, if you spend this one night in the bedroom, I'll buy you that new Julia Child cookbook you've been wanting forever."

Julia Child? Well, this changes things a bit. Wait, Brian, never cave in on the first offer. "I see your cookbook and raise you season one of Iron Chef on DVD."

"Iron Chef? Really? The whole first season? But, don't you have all the episodes on video anyway?"

"Two words: DELETED SCENES. Take it or leave it, toots."

I see the gears working a mile a minute in that pretty little actress head of hers. A DVD box set for Brian......sure, that'd set me back a bit, she was thinking. But, it's worth an uneventful, gnome-free party, right? Oh, but Brian can't reach the controls on the TV, or even comfortably lift the remote control, so wouldn't I be forever stuck running the DVD player for him, and listening to his perpetual commentary about how HE could have made that bruschetta better than Emeril, just by marinating the tomatoes overnight in balsamic vinegar, garlic, oregano, black pepper, and his Secret Ingredient? But on the other hand, I can't possibly risk the tantrum that'd ensue when Brian sees people eating store-bought, GENERIC potato chips and frozen phyllo pastry puffs. Okay, it's settled. Potential future hassle beats immediate and DEFINITE gnome meltdown. Game, set, match.

"Okay, Brian, you win. The cast party starts at ten o'clock tonight, and I promise you, tomorrow morning, after grocery shopping, we'll go straight to Chapters to get you the Julia Child cookbook AND the Iron Chef DVD's. But first, YOU have to promise ME that you'll stay in the bedroom for the whole night, and don't make a sound."

I feel my dignity gradually chipping away at the thought of being relegated to the bedroom, along with her raggedy teddy bear, her old diary from grade six, and the other skeletons in her closet. Must...come out......on......top. "Fine, but at least put me on the windowsill so I can see outside."

"Deal. Thanks, Brian, you're the best."

"Yeah, yeah, save it for Chapters. And if you try to welch on our deal, I'll hack into your Facebook and tell ALL your friends about how you professed your undying love for--MMMPPGHHHH!!! Stop it!!! You're suffocating me!!!"

"That's what you get for blackmailing someone who's ten times your size."

"Manhandle me like that one more time, and you're in for a world of Froot Loops."


All that day, she's a veritable whirlwind of frenetic energy. Swiffer in one hand, Dustbuster in the other. Spray, mop, wipe, scrub, load dishwasher, microwave some water mixed with cinnamon for that "homey" scent. Unload dishwasher, examine that sketchy plate that's encrusted with mysterious green stuff. God, I sure hope that's pesto, she muses absentmindedly. Wait a second, when was the last time I had pesto? That means it could only be......eww, gross!!! Into the Dumpster with you. By nightfall, the place looks beautiful. Freshly vaccuumed throw rugs, freshly scrubbed hardwood floors, lemon-scented furniture polished to a hypnotic sheen and adorned with vases of fresh daffodils, whose fragrances blend cheerfully with the scent of the microwaved cinnamon. She goes into the bedroom and returns in her little black dress, strappy heels, and hoop earrings. As her friends and family members come spilling in the door, she is enveloped in a forest of arms, mingled with companionable laughter and congratulations. Glasses clink in celebratory toasts, and I drift off, lulled by this carefree symphony of sounds and smells.

"GRRR!!! Ugh!!! Oof, I can't budge this thing!!!"

At once, I am jerked awake from my reverie. All sounds of merrymaking have subsided, and the apartment is now dark and silent, save for the snoring of an anonymous partygoer sprawled on the sofabed after too many glasses of Sangria. The glaring red display on the clock radio reads 4:03 a.m., and the sky outside is fading to a clear, inky blue, giving the promise of brilliant sunshine. Wow.....how long was I asleep? I rub my eyes and heave the window open with all my gnomelike strength.

"Hey! Down here!"

Dumbfounded, I look down to the communal garden area. Holy Tarragon, it's another gnome! Not only that, but he's attempting to move a wooden step stool, easily twice his size, back to its usual position underneath the apple tree, which is just beginning to sprout buds. Its beauty is marred only by the twin grooves in the muddy grass, running from the tree to a plywood cutout of a woman bending over a flower bed, her polka-dotted panties displayed for all the world to see. It all makes sense now. Sure, this guy may have made his own bed, whoever he is, but the bottom line is, us gnomes have to look out for one another. I walk to the window ledge, grab the drainpipe with both hands, and slide down to meet him.

"Hi, I'm Brian the Breakfast Gnome, but you can just call me Brian."

"Brian? Ohmygod, like, don't you remember me? I'm Callum the Calorie-Counting Gnome, you thillybunth!!! But my friendht call me Cal!!!"

"Cal? Didn't we go to culinary school together? I mean, I never talked to you, because everyone loved my famous crepes with homemade blueberry syrup, but YOU thought the only worthwhile breakfast was fat-free soy yogurt sprinkled with wheat germ. But wow, I totally remember you--you had the stove by the window, in the far right corner. What have you been DOING with yourself all these years?"

"Thave the reminithing, thweetie. Firtht, we have to move thith thep thtool back where it belongth, before my wife waketh up and findth me here!!!"

Wife? This is a new one on me. I look Cal up and down, and take in his bizarre getup. Skintight black leather pants and a matching leather jacket over a muscle top emblazoned with a rhinestone skull with a pink hair bow perched jauntily on the side of its head. On his feet are black leather boots, with an oddly familiar cartoon logo emblazoned on the sides. Wait a second....does that say "Hannah Montana?" No, it couldn't be, I decided. Between the darkness and the sheer bizarreness of this situation, my eyes must be playing tricks on me.

"Don't jutht thand there!!! Help me move the thtool!!!"

Grunting, we push the step stool through the oozing, viscous mud. Damn, if only it hadn't rained last night. Just a little further.....a little more......got it! Maybe now he'll give me some answers.

"Cal, why don't you come in for a bit?"

Panting from exertion, we walk to the front door of the apartment. It must be almost five now. Only a matter of time before the early-morning crowd sets off for the dog park. God, WHERE did this Cal character get that shirt? A skull with a hair bow? I turn to ask him, when all of a sudden, the door opens. A stampede of sneakered feet attached to Lululemon-clad legs comes pounding out, their enthusiastic rhythm punctuated by erratic yips and yaps from their toy poodles and Pomeranians--classic "apartment-sized" dogs. Seeing our fleeting window of opportunity, I grab Cal's hand. Together, we sprint through the rapidly-closing space between the heavy metal door and its frame. Whew. Another split-second, and we would have been gnome ganache.

"This way, Cal." I lead him down the hall to her apartment. We enter through the dog door installed by the previous tenants. It's kind of ironic--So many times, I'd vituperated her within an inch of her life about being robbed blind in the middle of the night, and now her abject disregard of my words is actually within my favour. Chuckling softly, I lead Cal into the kitchen. Score.....home-court advantage.

"Cal, what's going on here?" I ask him. "You're nothing like I remember from culinary school."

"Oh, geez....Brian, thith ith tho hard!!!"; chokes Cal. I can hear the lump in his throat as his eyes begin to well up with tears.

I soften up a little. No matter how long it's been, Cal is like a brother to me. Regardless of the circumstances, gnomes look out for one another. In spite of myself, I walk over to Cal and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I jutht didn't know it'd turn out tho wrong!!! One moment, I'm getting straight A'th for my flawleth flambe, and the next thing I know, I'm cheating on my wife with a woman who doethn't even have a fathe!!! It'th not even my fault either!!! It'th all Dethiree!!!"

"Desiree?"

"Yeth! My wife! Dethiree the Dethert Gnome!!! When we were dating, she uthed to make the motht divine fruit thaladth, but ever thince she tharted filling out, she rethented me for keeping my buff figure, and got all pathive-aggrethive on me!!! Now all she maketh ith deep-fried Twinkieth, and when I refuthe to eat them, she giveth me the thilent treatment. I don't even really enjoy it when we ARE getting along, it'th like I'm jutht going through the motionth!!! I think I'm just theeing Florenthe becauthe I'm angry!!!"

"Florence?"

"The woman in the garden!!! Oh, she may be one-thided, and a bit two-dimenthional, but she'th alwayth available, and she never judgeth me!!! But on the other hand, I don't even really ENJOY it, it'th like making love to a piethe of plywood!!! And wortht of all, I alwayth have to do it from behind!!! I'm shtuck in a hopeleth sham of a marriage, and I don't even know who I am anymore!!! Thometimeth, I get tho racked with thelf-doubt, I......I......"

"Go on, Callum, it's okay."

"Well, Brian, thometimeth, when thingth get really bad, I thneak out to the grothery thtore, and I buy.......POP-TARTH!!! Thometimeth, I can eat a whole boxth in one thitting!!!"

"Pop-Tarts?!?!?!" Brotherly compassion or not, I can't help but show my revulsion. Clearly, Cal has been coming out of the closet and running straight for the pantry, and that just can't happen, or else the six-pack under that revealing top of his is going to become a serious beer belly.

"Yeth. BLUE RATHBERRY Pop-Tarth!!!"

That tears it. He's staying with me. Friends don't let friends eat those horrible, uber-processed, manufactured monstrosities. Who ever heard of "blue raspberry" anyway? I have yet to see one in nature. I swear, the whole "blue raspberry" phenomenon must have come into fruition in the 80's, along with the fluorescent fad. And anything that's fluorescent blue has no business in the stomach of a living creature.

"Cal, how would you like to stay here with me?"

"Really? Oh, Brian!!! You're the betht friend a gnome could ever athk for!!!" He dissolves into tears as he throws his arms around me. Wow......I don't remember Callum being THIS affectionate.

I see the first rays of morning sunlight beaming softly through the living-room window, and hear her stirring from the bedroom. Shit! Our deal!!! She can't see me out here, Julia and Emeril depend on it!!!

"Cal! Bedroom, NOW!!!"

"Gee, Brian, I had no idea you felt THITH way about me!!!"

"Don't push it, I'll explain later!!!"

I hustle Cal into the bedroom and hurriedly shove him behind a box of mismatched costume pieces in the closet. Frantically, I pull myself onto the desk chair, then the desk, and then resume my place on the window sill, and not a moment too soon. I hear the rustling of sheets as she beings to stir. She must have heard the commotion. She rolls over and sits up in bed, and looks around her bedroom, almost surprised to see everything exactly where she left it. It must have been the Sangria, she decides.

Slowly, she swings her legs out of bed, pokes her feet into her fuzzy slippers, and shuffles toward the closet to retrieve her bathrobe. That's odd......who moved that box? She puts on the robe, and attempts to shut the closet door, only to meet resistance. Oh, right, that box is in the way. Wait a second? What's that in the back? She bends down, drags the box out of the closet, and finds Callum staring back at her, wide-eyed and stiff with fright. Wow, she thinks. From now on, things are going to be twice as interesting around here.