“And that is how Apple computers…”
Growl.
You tell yourself: “It’s fine. I’ll get through this. Class is from 2 p.m. to 5 p.m. And it’s already … 3:10 p.m.”
Ugh.
You think: “I can do this. I’m not that hungry.”
And then you see it.
Professor Ali’s head has turned into a cupcake. A cookie dough cupcake from Sweet Haus, to be more specific.
“Do they see it too?,” you wonder to yourself, scanning the tiny seminar to see if any of the other students have noticed that Professor Ali’s platinum hairdo has been replaced by a swirl of golden buttercream speckled with delectable chocolate chips. Nobody looks up from note taking, so either they are in denial or just tired of staring at Professor Ali’s perfectly quaffed hair. But Professor Ali’s hair is amazing, so they must be trying to avoid eye contact with the cupcake that has replaced his face. Determined to get confirmation that the dessert manifestation in place of your professor’s head is actually there, you turn to your classmate: “Hey Chiara, do you notice something different about Professor Ali today?”
“Did he get highlights over the break?”
“Crap. No one sees. Only I know the truth,” you think to yourself, wondering if this is how Katniss felt during “The Hunger Games.”
“Ugh. Now I’m hungry again.”
And then Professor Ali’s stomach balloons. His chocolate-y brown sweater-vest expands into a dark chocolate truffle complete with the glossy wrapper. Your eyes bug out in awe and you cannot contain a chuckle. Professor Ali, also known as the protagonist in Roald Dahl’s new children’s book tentatively titled, “Professor Ali and the Giant Cupcake Truffle Man,” whips around to face you: “Do you find the capitalist hegemony of the media landscape funny?”
You stammer out, “I … um … just think we need to embrace the irony of postmodernism when evaluating the media today.” Professor Ali smiles, and all you can think about is how his skin looks like a delicious cross between cappuccino and caramel.
“Oh no. Not again.”
Professor Ali’s torso bubbles and blends until a salted caramel frappuccino replaces the professor’s once slender frame. “At least his shoes aren’t food,” you think to yourself just as his light suede Oxfords poof into hunks of Parmesan cheese.
Growl.
Everyone stares at you, which is odd since no one notices that Professor Ali looks like the human embodiment of Harris Teeter.
Growl.
Your stomach is angry now. It’s almost as if it wants to break out of your body and snack on Professor Ali’s cheese shoes.
Oh no.
Before you can stop yourself, you stick out your leg and trip Professor Ali. A piece of his cheese shoe breaks off in the fall. You quickly kick the piece towards you as Professor Ali plows into your classmate’s desk, coffee spilling everywhere. But your kicking skills are not what they once were during the height of your middle school soccer glory, and you manage to kick the cheese hunk behind Professor Ali’s briefcase, which morphs into a wheel of Gouda because of course it does.
“All hope is lost,” you think yourself, resigned to the fact that you will have to occupy the same space as the Chocolate Cheese Man for the next ninety minutes without even tasting his shoe. Yet the food gods take pity on you this day, for the next words Professor Ali utters are: “We need to take a break to clean up this coffee. Everyone come back in 10 minutes.” You dash out of the room, dreams of pumpkin muffins and apple crumble supplanting your previous concern that your professor’s body has been replaced by food.
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