I have just had another few sips/gulps from my freshly-made berry-veggie smoothie. It is delicious. But it is not fulfilling what my body needs, somehow – it is not entirely what I want. It has helped, but it is not sufficient.
As I walk into the pantry, I sigh and ask aloud, “What do I want?… Ugh… I want….” My arms have moved outward and curved downward as the end to the last sentence. In my peripheral vision, I see that my hands are cupping gently and loosely the area just in front of my pelvis, in front of my uterus and groin. I say, without having thought about it, “I want warm sex?” and then give a soft snort-sigh at the absurdity of my statement. I am here for food. That isn’t food.
I consider this a few moments, and then jump further into the absurd: What food is warm, satisfying sex?, I ask myself in my head, as though there were a cookbook somewhere with this information listed, and I am aiming to recall what foods are on the list, like proteins or vitamin-B-rich foods.
To my astonishment, after a few moments, I say, “A soupy broth, poured over a pile…bowl of deeply spiced, veggie-filled, hot quinoa. Hot.”
Yeah, my thoughts tell me, that’s it.
And I think they must be right. After all, they are the ones who came up with the concept in the first place.
I guess I’m having hot sex… for dinner tonight…?
(If that isn’t roflcopter, I’m not sure what is.)
^So fantastically easy, I almost forgot even to comment on it or notice!