Metamorphosism

Blähbauch

On the weekend, I fetched Gamma from a friend's house in a nearby village. I have worked out a deal with her whereby if she does not hide from me when I fetch her there, or throw a tantrum, or run away, or anything else that I may deem dramatic, she is allowed to visit again.

It was six in the evening. She met me at the door, along with her friend and their large, black dog.
"No drama, right?" I said to her.
She was sugar and spice. Of course no drama. She began looking for her shoes.
"Oh, I was just making her something to eat," her friend's mom said.
"Um, but," I said.
"Would you still like something to eat?" she asked Gamma.
Meat with rice. It was already in the microwave.
"Coffee?" she asked me.
"Sure," I said. "Yes, please."
So we sat around the table while Gamma ate her meat and rice, and I was served coffee.
Amazingly enough, the coffee was made with a machine so I had something to make conversation about.
"So, is that a filter or an espresso machine?" I asked, and the conversational ball was rolling.
"Milk and sugar?" I was asked.
"No thank you," I said.
"Dad's on a diet," Gamma said. "Dad and mom both."
"Well, actually, I happen to not be on a diet," I said. "I just never take sugar or..."
"Dad and mom are on the Blähbauch diet," Gamma explained.
Blähbauch, or "Blaehbauch" for those of you without an umlaut function, would translate literally as "flatulence belly," and has been a popular topic of conversation around our house lately: the belly itself, and its possible causes, and its obvious effects, both on the figure and the environment, and dietary measures that could be taken to mitigate it.
Gamma's friend's mom had her back to me as she poured my coffee, but her grin of Schadenfreude reflected off the kitchen window like a 100 watt bulb.
"So, anyhow, just black," I said.
"Here you go," she said.
The coffee - espresso - was aromatic and enjoyable.