FROSTINE: Portrait Of A Lover

by DVS
"Maybe I'm made from different stuff than you are...but what I'm NOT made
of....is not having feelings!!!!". Frostine's words stung. But what stung even
more, were the English language meanings behind the words she was saying, and the
way my brain understood them, based on my knowledge of words. She was
right. She was 7 feet tall and made out of frosting, but she was right.
Just two months ago, when my esteemed associate and famed scientist Tony
Scientist had uttered the words "you know...it IS possible..." I was of course
skeptical. Tony was always pranking around, such as for example the time
that he shot me in the stomach with a gun. But this time proved different. "But
how?" I stammered, surprisedfully. "How is a wife made of frosting POSSIBLE?".
Tony shrugged. I knew that shrug. The shrug meant science.
When he unveiled the finished product some weeks later, I gasped like a man
who is looking at something which is causing him to gasp. Do you remember the
scene in Jaws when the guy sees Jaws and says to the other guy "We're gonna need
a bigger boat"? It was like that. Not because of sharks or even a boat, but because
it was really dope.
I'd expected awe, lust even.....but love? Suddenly i understood all the songs on the
radio about wanting to bite off your wife's giant frosting hands and eat
them. She was perfect.
The first thing I noticed about her was that she was made out of frosting. This was good
because of the taste of frosting (good. a good taste) and because she would be
relatively unharmed if Tony Scientist shot her with a gun. Which he did, several times, almost
immediately. Something was really wrong with Tony. Also her being 7 feet tall would
come in handy in case there was something I wanted to have but it was on a high shelf. I
made a mental note to google "places with high shelves", as they could no longer stop me.
But mainly I googled "being in love". Except I googled it.... with my heart.

Gazing into her pained Funfetti eyes now, however, tainted these cherished memories. It
was as if you had started with something nice, like a nice glass of water, and then added
something which wasn't nice, like maybe piss. Thats how it was like. What would help? A peace
offering? I motioned at the pile of assorted local small-town newspapers I kept on the
coffee table because that is what smart interesting people do. It didn't help.
"Yes, I know all about your newspapers, and that makes you smart and interesting, but it

doesn't ease my pain" she said, uneasedfully.

I took a slug of my whiskey and grimaced. Had I mentioned I was drinking whiskey? Maybe
start reading again from the beginning, with that knowledge in place. I think you'll find
it makes the entire scenario more serious. The whiskey stung, stung like Frostine's words
from before (remember before when I had said that? I'm telling this story really well).
The whiskey did its job, unlocking the memories like so much swag, except for in my brain.
Almost immediately after she was unveiled to me the troubles had begun. We were wed
on the spot. Tony's insistence that science was just as good as religion and that that made him
a reverend saw to that. When planning our honeymoon however, reality struck.
"No we can't go to the beach, I'll die." she said, giggling. Mexico was out of the question
as well.
"The heat, you see...it--"
"Right....you'll die", I interrupted. Some places might make ME die too, but I was willing to
take the chance, especially for love!!! Where was the adventurous, sticky woman I had married
ten minutes earlier? We settled for honeymooning in a refrigerated room in Tony's lab. I held
giant hands with my new wife, and we made love for the first time. It was fucking disgusting.
Cracks began to show in our picturesque life rather quickly. Unable to take a shower, she
had started to stink real bad really really quickly. And I kept having to dust her with flour
so she wouldnt stick to all my stylish leather furniture, which made taking bites out of
her face totally nasty. I had used to love that. What had become of us? What ever becomes of
ANY of us? (that part is really deep and if you want to think about your own life for a
minute you probably should. its pretty inspiring what I just said).
I could hide my disdain no longer. Our argument unresolved, I turned on the TV and
motioned for her to join me. Sitting very far apart from one another (because of the stink),
she caught me fixating on an episode of popular television show "Friends" (which I watch
as kind of a funny joke because i'm too smart for that and normally watch paintings).
"Are you staring at Jennifer Aniston because she's a flesh-woman?" Frostine spat at me,
accusingly. Ironic....Jennifer Aniston was made of frosting as well (Tony had let me know but
sworn me to secrecy). But Frostine didn't know that. And it didn't matter. Maybe nothing
did?
"What if I AM, Frostine? What if sometimes I wish I was married to someone who DOESN'T
scream when the oven turns on? Or who DOESN'T have to sleep in a lucite box or undergo a
six hour lamination process when she goes outside in case it rains and then a twelve hour
UNlamination process when she comes back inside? IS THAT SO WRONG? I'M HUMAN.
THIS IS HOW WE ARE! but...you wouldn't know about that, I guess..."

She recoiled as if i had put her on top of a cake. I had finally crossed the line. "I am what I am. I
thought that was enough for you"
she whispered. "I don't know WHATS enough anymore,Frostine" I replied, cleverly. She began
to sob.
"Oh look, here's ONE water you're not afraid of" I muttered. I was mad good at arguing, I
reminded myself to smirk at myself in a mirror later about how I had said something really cool
just now.
But I had spoke too soon. Inside our refrigerated house, she was unlaminated....and the tears
were melting her. I rushed to her side, not even angry anymore, being the bigger person on
account of she was dying. I fanned her face to dry the tears, but it only made them spread.
They had made their way down to her frostingbones, and she was screaming, and starting to
gush very real blood. Wow, I did not understand science AT ALL. I would not have put blood
inside someone who did not need blood to live, it seemed excessive. But I was no scientist,
and it was too late. The blood made her melt even faster, until she was a godawful pile on my
very expensive wooden floors that have been photographed for magazines on account of their
niceness.
Slowly, I took the playing card out of my pocket. The six of hearts. To represent how she
made me feel like I had six hearts. But in a good way. Like, of love. Not like a weird monster
like I'd be if that happened in real life. Can you imagine? But I digress. Handsomely.
I had found the playing card in a storm drain and was planning to give it to her as an
anniversary present. Instead I used it to scrape my wife off the floor and eat her, because
the garbage was very far away and I was tired from arguing. It made me feel sick, but a good
kind of sick. She'd be with me always. I gazed out the window, and it began to rain, as if on cue.
When ketchupwife arrived, I-