Two bananas sitting in a tree. You know the rest. The plane buckled and moaned as it lifted off. The seats rejoiced and yelled. Triangular rakes move across the sky and pull apart the clouds.

She meets me at the overpriced, overrated, overanxious steakhouse. There is just something about her. I can’t place my finger on it (although I do try and she slaps it away). I knock the napkin on the floor to look at her under the table. She is shapely. I worry that one of these evenings during an expensive cow-flavored meal, squares will replace her curves.

My last girlfriend was like that. She was square where she should have been curvy. I forgave her that for a few months. I thought that the squares were a temporary thing, like the belly rounding after the feasts. But if anything she became more square. I began to think of her in terms of Tetris. When she lay in bed she was the L-shaped piece. Standing up she formed the straight piece. On the couch she became the T-piece with the shrunken middle. I never minded her large belly until its roundness became square. Sitting she looked the zigzag piece, the good one if she sat in one direction, the bad one in the other. I bought her softer clothes thinking that I could hide her squareness, but the rounded clothing took on her squarish dimensions. In the end I had to let her go. She demanded an explanation and I gave her it. She went from red to yellow to green during my explanation. She slapped me. Twice. I knew I earned the slaps and did not flinch. Instead, I looked down at her feet. That’s when I saw her square shoes. I managed to wait until after I left the breakfast place I use to end relationships to let out my horror-filled scream.

This one is still curvy and that is good enough for me now. I reach across the table and grab her round wrist. She smiles.