YumYum's Bistro

I gave my bistro away. I didn't intend to, but as they say, life's a bitch and then you die.

I died.

Alright, alright, I'll back up and tell you what happened . My name is Kate, but my friends call me YumYum both online and off. I earned my nickname the old fashioned way, with actions. My food is great, my drinks are intoxicating, and my cyber-talk is spicy. Trust me; it doesn't matter what capacity you deal with me. You will leave the experience chanting, YumYum!

How did a gal like me get involved in the seedy side of the Internet? It's simple really. I worked crazy hours. I was married to the job and I didn't have time for a personal life. Marty, my bitter beer face line cook who couldn't get a date to save his life told me about chat rooms. It's the only place he hooks up with women or should I say, can hook up with women. He gave me the low down on how things run.

Typing for tingles. I'll give it a shot.

It turns out that cyber sex doesn't turn me on. It makes me hungry. Even though I didn't get off, other people did. I'm really good at dirty talk. Duh. I'm a cook by nature, and a restaurant owner by choice. Everyone knows that's part of the job description and recipe for success.

What a shot in the ass. People would log on early to get in line to have a date with me. It's been years since I had the real deal and the last encounter made me hungry. Food always satisfies me. I spent my last night with food, drink and Englebert Pumphisdink.

That's the story of my life, but here is the story of my death. It seems I have time to tell you about my fateful last night. I'm in the holding room awaiting my destiny. Heaven or hell, it could go either way. There aren't any snacks here. The magazines are lousy, out of date and my hand smell like fish. Hey-hey, get your mind out of the gutter. It's not what you think!

Hmmph. let me explain.

The weekends at the bistro are always crazy. The madness starts off first thing in the morning dealing with deliveries. Then we prep for lunch, serve lunch, dinner prep then dinner service. Saturday nights are booked a week out and walk-in customers with no reservations and a gambling streak will try their luck at getting a table. When dinner is over the bar fills up. It's a 16 hour day for me and I am pooped by midnight.

Most women relax and wind down with a glass of wine, a hot bubble bath and soothing music. Not me. I throw on sweats, make a dirty martini and an appetizer to snack on. Tonight's tidbit is fresh Walleye wrapped in bacon and grilled on the barbie. I finish it off by brushing my secret BBQ sauce on it. It is to die for. Once I'm satisfied I can satisfy someone else.

My inbox is full and it's time to pick the lucky contestant for the evening. The usual people are there. Boring. I need fresh meat. Hey, who is this guy? Englebert Pumphisdink. He sounds interesting. His name reminds me of an old school crooner but more importantly a great sandwich I had back east. It was thinly sliced pork roast topped with cole slaw and melted cheddar on toasted pumpernickel. YumYum! He's my guy tonight.

Still here? Well, I'm not going to tell you the dirty details you peeping Tom. I maybe a cyber seductress but I'm still a lady at heart and awaiting my destiny. I can't take a chance at hell with dirty details you know.

The scenario, in a nutshell:

YumYum: Something very erotic and naughty.

Englebert Pumphisdink: (five minutes later) Oh yeah, baby.

YumYum: Really dirty words again, laced with action talk, Larry Flint style. It isn't my usual genre but I am really hungry and this guy is a letdown. Not a bit witty and very bland. No wonder he's here.

I finished my walleye tidbits alternating with bites of olive from my dirty martini. The purple plastic sword toothpick is what I use for a fork. I love those little plastic swords from the bar. Usually they are reserved for maraschino cherries to top off the Shirley Temples. The kids go crazy for them and so far nobody has poked an eye out.

Englebert Pumphisdink: (finally, he came back. Haha get it, came back. Ahh, never mind.)

Thanks YumYum. Guess what: It's Marty! Wow, you were great. I thought all the talk about you was legend. No way. You are a goddess of keyboard love. I know you are the boss, but Woo Hoo woman. Was it good for you?

Good God almighty. I was in mid-bite of my olive when I read this. I hit that red X in the top right hand corner immediately and gasped. My fingers must have been slippery from the bbq sauce because the little purple sword went right down my throat along with a big ass Manzanilla olive, otherwise known as a Spanish olive.

I froze in horror because of this new revealing information. Seriously, why am I not choking? Wow, this is crazy, still no gagging. I should change my name to Deep Throat. Whew, that was a close call. I cheated death but now I have to face the horror of my life. My bitter beer face line cook is Englebert Pumphisdink.

I took a Tylenol PM with a shot of Jack Daniels and hit the sack. Ni-nite. I dropped Z's like some fast acting JUWC member in an alphabet story. Good golly miss Molly. Jack Daniels was doing a number on my stomach along with the fish and martinis. This has been a long traumatic night. If only I could burp was my last thought.

The next morning I woke up dead.

Brenna, my other cook, called the police when I didn't show up to the bistro Monday morning. She knew something was wrong and freaked out. I was hovering over my body when the police showed up. How embarrassing, I was dressed in my sweats and had bbq sauce on my top.

The autopsy stated that I died from a condition called mediastinitis. It turns out that little sword poked through my esophagus and all my wonderful gravies, sauces and toppings, not to mention bodily goop flooded the place between my lungs. You know where my heart is, or was. Can you believe it?

Live by the sword. Die by the sword.

Well, that's it. Maybe by telling you my story, my staff's stories and my customer's stories I can redeem my self. It can't hurt. I hope.