F3 Four Words

            “Come on, say it,” Natalie pressed.

            “What? No. Come on,” I said.

            “If you don’t say it, you’re not getting any.” She folded her arms, looking sternly at me.

            “That’s just unfair, cruel even.” I began to feel queasy, putting a hand over my stomach.

            She waited.

            “Okay, fine. I’ll say it.”

            “Tell me what I want.”

            “Protein by the pound.”

            “Oooh, yeah, baby.”

            “Next,” the clerk called.

            Natalie stepped up. “We’d like 20 pounds of ribs, ten pounds of brisket, six pounds of turkey, ten pounds of hot link sausage, a gallon of beans, six corn on the cob, and two dozen biscuits.”

            “Will that be to go?”

            “No, we’ll eat it here,” Natalie smiled.

            “Don’t forget the cobbler,” I said.