Mr Potato-Head

"Don't distract me, please..." he muttered underneath his breath. His eyes squinted with exaggerated concentration as he dipped the paintbrush with a tinge of grey, mixing a new tone on his good ol' palette. A palette that he rarely washes. If the colors caked up, he would just add water and summon his creative judgment to refine the tint or shade that he needs. As for his paintbrushes, he always rinses them after every use.

I watched Cliff closely, with amusement and admiration.

"But you would be distracted without me," I sang softly with my lips near his earlobe, fixing my eyes on the canvas he was working on, barely touching him. It looked like the beginning of another abstract art. To an untrained mind like mine, it absolutely made no sense. But once a while, he would share his imaginations and explain the concept behind it. And sometimes, it has no meaning at all. Whatever it is, I would be careful not to accidentally touch him, lest he makes a wrong stroke on the canvas and blames me for it. He did that before. The punishment? I had to go camping with him.

He smiled, never taking his eyes off his artwork.

Gosh. What a beautiful man. How did he end up with me? Not that he made a bad choice, I'm not ugly. It's just that I am not those regular girls who spend a lot of time or effort in front of the mirror doing my hair or make-up. But yeah, I do spend a lot of time in front of another kind of mirror, in the gym. That was where I met Clifford.

"Cliff, Mr Potato-Head, please?"

"Huh?" Cliff finally looked at me. "Well, I know you like Mc Donald's fries, Chinese potato chicken, steamed potatoes, mashed potatoes, all the potatoes in the wor..."

"And I'm a potato head myself!" I interrupted him. "Yes, could you draw something clear and solid like a potato? So that for once, I do not have to attempt to interpret your beautiful mind and make a fool outta myself."

His eyes still trained on me, as he digested my request for couple of seconds. Then a loop-sided grin formed on his face.

"Babe, you know Mr Potato-Head still can be an abstract. Like how the mouth is at the ear, the nose is at the eye..."

"Okay, I'll take whatever potato you would give." I decided to risk a quick touch on him. I aimed for his temple but my lips landed on his ear.

At this stage of relationship, we adore each other. 4 months since I asked him if he would like to be my boyfriend, Cliff proved to be an awesome friend and a supportive boyfriend. I had to ask him! The signs were all there but he was too bloody shy to make it official.

He knows I am a dork. I told him my biggest secret too. I need to get it off my chest as soon as possible, just in case he becomes somebody that really matters to me. I told him who I was and what I did, showed him the exit. If he walks out now, it won't be as painful as when he walks out later after I am in too deep. And harbouring a big burden is like living with a noose around your neck. So I told him about my ex.

And Cliff chose to stay.

The Mr Potato-Head was beginning to take shape. Watching Cliff dipped a color and stroke by stroke transferred it to the canvas was kinda therapeutic. The repetitive moves themselves were supposed to be boring. However it was enjoyable to watch the concentration on his face, how his eyes darted here and there, how his fingers hold the brush tenderly and how his arm flexed creating strokes on the canvas. Perhaps, it is the pure satisfaction watching a piece of white canvas transformed into something.

"It's a perfect Mr Potato-Head..." I observed. The nose, eyes , eyebrows, ears, moustache were all situated where they are supposed to be. "What happened to Picasso Mr Potato-Head?"

Cliff picked black with the tip of his paintbrush and began to paint the hat of Mr Potato-Head, conveniently avoiding the question. The hat was drawn away from the head, as if the top of the skull was opened. Okay...so this still has to be somewhat abstract.

At least I think I understand that this Mr Potato-Head is like a container and the hat is a lid. You can put things inside or take things out.

Cliff puts down the paintbrush. A sure indication that he was done, and I can come near. I wrapped my arms around his waist. I used to complaint that his pectorals are bigger than my boobs, his 6 packs are too hard for my head to rest on, and instead of happily enjoying food together, we have to opt for tasteless salads for so many dates. Not anymore. Still in a great form, he is less obsessed with his body now. Probably I am the one who is more obsessed with it.

I admit that I think about it often. Sex. With him. But no, we never.

Did he think about it too? He would hold my hand and chat. He would hug me close and I can smell his aftershave. He would kiss me and I would totally dissolve, or tensed somewhere, depends. But when it comes too close to taking our clothes off and enjoy each other's body, somehow we pull the handbrake out of mutual respect and love that is deeper than lust. We never talk about it. Save the best for last. If we last that long.

He interlocked his fingers with mine as we both stared at the Mr Potato-Head with an open brain.

"Faye... Sweetheart..." Cliff began. "If you like potatoes so much, I would like to be your Mr Potato-Head. But there is something about me that I want to you to know."

I usually refrained from smoking in Cliff's apartment. I had a feeling that I need to light one soon.