As we all know, Kale is a disgusting, vile, abomination put here on Earth by a cruel and unyielding god. In 1989, a neglected housewife, DEBRA, chose not to accept the bitter taste. And like all great paradigm shifts, this one was driven by passion. We join DEBRA as she welcomes home her emotionally disconnected husband, SCOTT, after he returns from a dreary day of work at an mid-sized accounting firm.
DEBRA: Hi baby! How was work today?
SCOTT: Fine. Where’s the newspaper?
DEBRA: It’s in the living room. We’re going to have a nice healthy dinner tonight. I have some red-meat, some rice and some kale. This new diet is tough but I want to get back in bathing-suit shape for you.
SCOTT: Hmm. Not really a fan of that kale stuff. You said the paper’s in the living room?
DEBRA: Yes, but why don’t you stay in here with me as I cook? Keep me some company. I get so lonely here all day.
She flutters her eyes and kisses him on the neck. The gesture is lost on him.
SCOTT: I heard on the radio that we’re sending troops into Panama. I wanted to see if there was any more news about that.
DEBRA: I heard a something on the radio too. It was that Milli Vanilli song. “Girl you know it’s true!” That song just gets me excited. Does it excite you?
She plays with her hair, twisting it around her index finger.
SCOTT: Eh. Not really my cup of tea. Let me know when dinner’s ready.
He walks into the living room, leaving her alone again. DEBRA’s neck remains un-kissed. Her shoulders remain un-embraced. Her hands remain un-held. She is a part of the kitchen. An appliance or a foodstuff. Her only company is the roast in the oven, the Minute Rice on the stove, and a colander full of un-washed Kale. She turns the faucet on and begins to rinse the leafy greens. Yet like the oven at 350 degrees, there is a radiant heat inside.
The cold water rushes over her hands and she feels a tear fall from her eye and into the sink to be swept away. Yet the kale remains. The kale has invited her. The hair on her arms stands up as the icy water cascades over her forearms, wrists and hand. She begins to wash with no purpose. Yet as she scrubs the vegetable, she finds her hands moving rhythmically in and out of the moist folds of the leafy green. She applies pressure and relieves it. She teases it, fluttering her fingers toward the edges of the edges of the iron-rich food.. Minutes pass without a sound. The kale seems to react and moves like silk under the kneading. It softens and opens and sweetens, receiving her digits. She inhales deeply. DEBRA closes her eyes.
SCOTT: Is dinner ready yet!?
DEBRA: Almost there!