Queen of the Kitchen

The sound of bubbling water, boiling in a pot, cooking spaghetti serenades my ears as I turn to cut the asparagus.
The nostalgic smell of french bread tickles my nose and shoots me to Ratatouille, it is the sound of bread that merits its worth.
A splashing sound tears me back to this kitchen. The water has boiled over the sides.
I blow all the air out of my lungs to calm the white waves of foam that are crashing over the sides of the cast-iron pot.
The result of this big-bad-woolf technique is a surge of steam that billows into my face and fogs my glasses.
I turn from this onset.
Blind, I now depend on my ears, which are pummeled with the sound of boisterous laughter.
Liz is laughing at how completely absurd I look.
I chase after her.
The pursuit is never ending until, unexpectedly, she turns around and comes towards me.
She takes my spectacles from my face and runs to the pot.
Her face goes so close to the water, I fear she will be burned.
As I am about to voice my concern, she pivots her head so I can see.
I can see how completely absurd she looks.
And we laugh together.