May 9, 2005
During my lunch break today, I decided that I’ve been thinking about men, love and sex the wrong way.
What would happen if I retrained my mind to think about men the way that I’ve retrained my mind to think about food this past year?
The way I look at it, I like men and food in my mouth. There’s lots of tasty options. Too much of either leaves me feeling a bit guilty and ashamed. Too little makes me very, very cranky.
I was raised Southern Baptist with the idea that there’s one perfect person who’ll satisfy my every need. We'd get married and all my problems would be solved. Praise Jesus! Granted, Baptists aren’t too keen on man-on-man action, but the concept of Christian teachings has always appealed to me, even when the execution has left a lot to be desired.
But if I start thinking of men like food, well…hell’s bells…that sort of traditional values ideology seems like ill-conceived fearful-famine-inducing propaganda.
Think about it -- there are some days when you skip breakfast, make your own lunch, and enjoy a big-ole-juicy dinner, with leftovers in the morning. Some nights, you consider Mexican, or Thai, or a healthy plate of soul food. If it’s Sunday afternoon, you’d really like a big ole buffet to kick off your work week.
Can you really imagine only eating the same thing, day after day after day after day? If men were more like food, then a little indulgence here and there, with the proper utensils, and you could have a grand ole time. You could choose when and where, how many times a day, or week or month. And there would be no worries, or upset, or aggravation.
And you would never, ever, ever have to feel sad when your current dish is done. Because there’s always a new restaurant to check out, a potluck to crash, an order-in to enjoy, a mid-afternoon snack…well, you get it.
So my question now is what kind of man diet do I need to be on so that I don’t have to deal with the hunger of missing someone who satisfied so many of my cravings?
Because, right now, this persistent emotional bulimia is a real problem.
What if we could think of love and sex like food versus this fucked up, convoluted, life-altering, mind-numbing, friend-annoying, blog-invading nightmare of melodramatic and seemingly endless prose and annoying song lyrics?
I dunno. But if some bitch from South Beach figures it out, I’ll buy a first edition and waive my fee for the infomercial testimony.
C’mon Judith....Suzanne…don’t y'all need some work?