Green Eggs and Flaubert

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Eva was under a tree reading Flaubert. I approached and expressed my sympathy for poor Charles, how he was dragged down by Emma’s delusional dreams.

Eva’s eyes lit up. “You’ve read this?”

“Four times.”

I lit a joint, held it out to her.

Eva stared at the joint in my hand. She blinked a few times. I nodded for her to take it and asked what she thought about Hugo, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Faulkner.

After the second joint, I thrust my tongue down Eva’s throat and groped her breasts.

She pushed off. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

The fourth joint brought about a more receptive Eva. She allowed me to kiss her gently, cup one of her breasts as long as I promised not to squeeze.

We went over to my place.

We passed another joint back and forth. She didn’t resist when I grabbed her blouse at the waist and raised it over her up-stretched arms.

“A tragedy, Emma’s life,” Eva said.

I kissed her nipple.

Eva pushed me away, sat back in the bed and began to read Madame Bovary out loud.

Green Eggs and Ham, I thought. I needed to find a Green Eggs and Ham girl.