Ados Pados

In addition to possessing such myriad talents as gift buyer and wrapper, dog poop picker-upper, newspaper put away-er, toilet roll changer, underwear folder, light/fan/hot water heater off-er, pantry stockist, bed maker, etc., mom can now add another qualification to her considerable kitty – cake tester.

It came to our recent attention that our neighbors own a chocolate store at a mall. Last night, the couple asked if my humans were available to stop by poolside after dinner to test a few cakes that were going to be introduced at the store shortly.

“We’d really appreciate your feedback,” they said. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Mind?!! Hello, does a dog mind a bone? Does a smoker mind cigarettes? Who in their right mind would rather watch television than participate as a cake tester, especially when the chocolate is imported from Belgium?

As soon as the kids fell asleep, mom and dad made their way to the pool and joined select neighbors to sample three different kinds of cake and answer a brief questionnaire describing their preferences.

“Would you be willing to participate in future testing sessions?” the hosts wanted to know.

“I wouldn’t mind,” answered mom.

Mind, my foot!

Sugar, in any form, turns her on. Sugar, combined with flour, butter, eggs and flavoring leave mom positively orgasmic. Throw in the word “Free!” and you have a woman writhing in ecstasy – all this before the product even reaches her mouth.

As the humans walked home with leftover cake slices for the following day, mom thought of all the neighbors she's had so far, from the Konkani aunty who lived next door and made the best fried modaks to the pakkath-aathu maami in Chennai to the frank "We’re-trying-to-have-a-baby-and-I'm-ovulating" neighbor in the U.S.

Mom's thoughts lingered, in particular, on the blond guy who lived along the same row as the ovulating neighbor. The night before we left the country, mom saw a side of him she had never seen before.

The man stood in his driveway with a can of beer, waiting to let his cat in. A light breeze rustled the oleanders bordering our lawns. Soft music wafted through an open garage door. As he stepped out of the shadows, mom drew her breath in sharply.

Clad in a pair of boxer shorts and nothing else, not even slippers, the man stood silhouetted against the night sky. Moonlight bathed his body in a silvery sheen, dancing off his golden hair and the wedding band on his finger. As he moved and stretched his bare torso, the pale light outlined his rippling muscles, highlighting every crease on his washboard stomach.

Despite herself, mom stood transfixed, wondering if she had unknowingly lived next to a male underwear model the last few years.

She never caught his name, but the man will forever be etched in her memory as a David.