Life with Ares
By Libby Simons
How did he get here? What do you feed him? Does he have a brother?
I`ve been getting asked a TON of questions since a certain Greek god made like Greg Louganis and did a swan dive from Olympus into my goat barn. Most of these queries deal with Ares, which, yeah, shock and surprise there, right? He sticks out in Pride County, Pennsylvania like that proverbial sore thumb. Only this buggered digit is much harder to hide under a band-aid or in your pocket! Let me give you some examples of my life with the god of manly courage and bloodlust….
Yesterday the lady at the deli counter at the Shop & Save asked me if Ares understood that the glass case was there to keep people, and their germs, away from the food. This was, of course, after the big lummox had lifted the lid and helped himself to a platter of stuffed cabbages while I was trying to decide on toilet paper a few aisles over. When confronted with his felony later in my truck, the lug stared at me openly and shrugged his mighty shoulders.
“I thought the food was there for us to sample. Why make sustenance and then lock it under glass?”
“It`s there for you to look at,” I tried to explain as we headed out of town.
“So,” he asked, working at the seatbelt and not getting it across his barrel chest, “The food is only to look at. But looking at it does not fill my gullet, Bunting.”
The buckle slapped the window then meekly fell into place behind the bench seat.
“No, it doesn`t. See, it`s there to make you hungry and…”
“And it did! Then, when I avail myself of the bounty prepared by the workers clad in hair netting, I am berated and chastised! You mortals make little sense!” he huffed, working the affronted god for all it was worth. “Why taunt hungry men so? Why do they not just lay a naked woman under glass and then demand a warrior, freshly blooded and rife with war frenzy, simply stand and look at the wench with his manhood in hand?!”
“Seriously?” I asked, shooting the moose a look as we trundled past pastures filled with cattle and corn, “You`re trying to compare a plate of stuffed cabbage with a nude woman??”
“`Tis the same thing,” the battle god informed me firmly, his rugged jaw set and his blue eyes flashing. The man did love a battle, be it verbal or with swords.
“Uhm, no, it`s not, Ares. Why would a woman be under glass anyway? This whole point of yours is invalid!” I argued, making the left onto my dirt road from the two-lane. I waved at Wanda Parker as we bounced past. Wanda runs the beauty parlor where I get my curls trimmed.
“She would be under the glass to entice those who see her, much like those stuffed cabbage rolls, which were cold I wish to state.”
My brows were knotted trying to get into his ancient way of thinking. “So the woman under the glass would serve to get all you Grecian warriors all het up, then, you and your randy counterparts would buy the other women waiting in the back of the deli like the fresh cabbage rolls?”
“Aye, that is correct. Women are like cabbage rolls and should not be hidden under glass from hungry males!”
“You really don`t have one good way to defend eating those cold cabbage rolls, do you?” I asked, peeking over at him as we turned at my mailbox. The Dodge wanted to stall and we drifted backwards for a bit.
“I do not need to defend my actions. I am a god. If I wish to sup upon cabbage rolls, or you, I shall do so when the mood strikes!” he announced for the entire world, and my goats, to hear. Thankfully the entire world at the bottom of my winding driveway only consisted of my goats, my steer and that funny Greek bison named George.
“And this has to do with naked women under glass how?” I queried, hoping to get my mind off the ‘Supping on me’ idea that was now burned into my brain for all eternity.
He actually had to think fast to come up with an answer. He failed.
“You are trying to vex me, are you not, Libby?”
“Nope, I`m just trying to figure out how you led me from eating food from the deli display to women under glass and men with their woo-hoo in their hand,” I said innocently. I may have even batted my lashes. He did not seem amused. Ares dislikes being one-upped by anyone, let alone a mortal female. I personally get one hell of a kick out of besting him!
“I shall not sup upon the cabbage rolls again,” the war god huffed like a child caught filching a candy bar.
“Good man,” I smiled and slipped the old Dodge pickup into park.
“One day though I shall sup upon you and you shall not chide me for it,” he added then unfolded his enormous frame from the cab. My jaw slid down to my chest. He stalked off like the victor he was.
Damn. And I almost had him too.
Artwork by Katherine Wheatley