Robo Chef's Tasty Love

I leaned the full weight of my body against the heavy glass door at the exit of Brookhaven mall, and stumbled my way out into the aromatic clouds of the Tastes of Haven street food market. Peppery hot pizza, slow roasted beef, and smoke grilled pork fragranced the air. The drone of perked voices in robust conversations mingled with laughter and the pattering feet of children at play. I meandered through the gaggle of people to tables of uniformed (t-shirts and jeans) food bearers passing out artfully arranged bites of what could only be described as heaven's delectables.

A fully-dressed clown from Clowndaes, beckoned me over to a six-foot long, clown-faced display of ice cream sundaes. The lady in a booth next to the clown's boasted a chocolate fountain and array of handcrafted chocolate treats. I sampled the sundaes, chocolates, sausage and pineapple pizza slice, and more. I was out to eat, have fun, and leave my cheating boyfriend in the past.

Darryl and I were high school sweethearts. We were pretty much joined at the hip for the whole of our two year relationship. That's why it was a complete shock to learn he'd carved out time to date Shelly Ann Cramer, our next door neighbor, behind my back. I was devastated, and I had unabashedly shown him how much pain I was in by exacting a wailing of pummels to his stupid head. Our relationship ended with me serving a thirty day jail sentence, but that was old news. I wanted to start again, and possibly find somebody new.

Out of my left peripheral, I spotted a hoard of eaters encircling a booth at the end of the street. I had to get a taste of that hoopla. I made my way to the rear of the audience that had amassed at Chef Robo's Artisan Cuisine. At five foot two, it was difficult to see, so I squeezed by a few stupored people to get a peek at the robot.

Our eyes met. His bulging electric blues summoned me to the front of the pack. His sculpted body was as well crafted as the vittles he served. He rolled in my direction. Stealthily. Effortless. My eyes closed and mouth opened before he arrived with a taste of the most delicious kiss ever placed upon my tongue. A cool sensation first, then the date; sweetly thickened with salty cheese, and blanketed in a cream and drip of honey. The flavors teased all of my senses and warmed me up for him. No woman---especially a well-fed one like me---could resist a skilled chef with a fantastic body. His muscles were cast in plastic and covered an iron man underneath. I could tell he was strong, but also gentle in the way he placed the bite on my tongue. He was artful in his preparation and crafting of food, and he knew how to entertain an audience and me---a woman in healing.

Eyes still closed, I unhinged my mouth for another. Waiting. I got nothing; air. The crave for his taste had set in upon me, but my robo chef was feeding a brunette on the other side of the booth. Just like that. He tantalized me with his bright blues and smooth moves and his art. Then, a "Thank you. Next," to me. Before I felt it, the crave switched to rage. I leaped over the table into chef robo's domain, and took hold of his arm to keep him from sharing his love with the black-haired girl. Chef's upper torso pivoted toward me, and we locked eyes again. Only, the sensation was not the same. His electrifying blues were pulsating red, and his askew metal alloy body started wheeling donuts around me at top speed. The crowd's bucked eyes and hung chins frightened me almost as much as robo's "tit-click-robo-malfunction-beep" noise. He hadn't uttered a single word when he fed me his kiss. Now, he was a ranting lunatic. In the midpoint of one of his circles, his wheels screeched to a full stop. His body realigned itself and rolled up to me; eyes blinking and blazing. "Tit-click-robo-malfunction-beep," he said, and raised his arm in front of him.

His pincers swiveled to a horizontal position, opened to the widest setting, and locked me in a death grasp. The onlookers gasped in a one note song all together and retreated to safer distance. I was in a squabble with my boo thang and it was about to get messy at the market.

My feet, strapped in gold sandals, levitated from the tar-graveled street and swung in circles above chef love's head while he rotated on his axis. The mass of people whirled by in a dizzying blurr. All the food samples of the day gathered in my throat and spewed into the crowd. I was horrified and helpless. Three technicians in navy blue jumpsuits ran up to chef robot in an effort to halt his rampage, but they were no match for the chef of steel.

Robo's torso stopped spinning on a dime. He lowered me---in his metal claws---and swept me (head first and horizontal) across a table of heated buffet pans, platters of nibbles, and tiered trays of desserts on display. After the table was empty, he used my body to clear the grilling station. A hot sticky situation. Chef "tit-click..." lifted and flipped me over on the grill three times before his eyes went dark. His metal pincers opened to release their grip on my life. I hurled myself from the grill onto the ground splattered in tasty remnants. Grill marks stamped my white cotton capri pants and gingham blouse. My hair was going fifty ways to the north, east, and west, and I was exhausted from this whiz-by love affair with a malfunctioning, lunatic robot. There was no love left between us. The bright blues that had captivated me were stone gray.

The useless techs picked me up and carried me past the street market's patrons to a golf cart waiting on the center path to transport me back to the mall's exit door. The same entrance I'd used earlier that catapulted me into the steely arms of a hellish romance on wheels at the Taste of Haven's street food market.