I like food. Yeah, I know, who doesn’t right? But I like, really like food… if you know what I mean.
I’ve always enjoyed it–all of it. I love salty, sweet, & all the beautiful flavours in between. I like fast food, slow food, cheap food & even the not-so-cheap stuff every once in a while, too. I groan with pleasure watching the assembly of my submarine sandwich, I drool in anticipation at the sound of sizzling bacon, & I have planned my life around Brewster’s Bavarian beefdip on more than one occasion.
Sitting down to a mouth-watering meal is a feeling rivalled only by digging into a delicious dessert, & don’t even get me started on how I feel about calorie-filled cocktails or savoury Starbucks beverages–it’s so satisfying. I know what I like, & I know it’s going to be tasty… if you ask me, feasting on my favourite foods is the ultimate gratification.
It’s been brought to my attention that maybe this is a touch unhealthy–that perhaps my relationship with meals is mildly inappropriate. My gross obsession with grub may be getting in the way of having a normal relationship. Could it be that my preoccupation with all things edible is getting in the way of some romantic satisfaction?
Maybe. I have been spending more time stuffing my face than fraternizing with eligible bachelors, & that’s definitely not doing my love life or my body shape any favours. I guess I could try & keep the snacking to a minimum, but what kind of life would that be?
Maybe I can fall in love with a man who shares my love of food–give myself the best of both worlds. I’ve heard you’re not supposed to mix business & pleasure, but food & romance should be okay.
Love me, love my appetite–am I right?