I’ve decided that one of the most disturbing and endearing qualities about the man I adore is his diet.
When I say I adore him, it’s honestly an understatement as I’ve never quite felt so connected to any individual in my entire life. Usually by this time in a relationship, red flags start to show up and wave themselves in the face of denial. Having just sailed, rowed, swam, parasailed, waterskied, and surfed down da nile for the last 12 years I have my eyes WIDE OPEN to these types of warnings.
The man is perfect, and when I use the words perfect and man in the same sentence I feel entitled to make some concessions and in this case the concessions i make take the form of a very interesting choice of
food candy “groupings”.
His food pyramid is set up to pay homage to the diet of a six year old boy on halloween morning, and yet he is a grown up in every single way and I might add; brilliant. I sit in his beautifully stylized apartment and take in his attention to detail, form, design and function. His skeletons are not in his closet, but his fridge, and I have to admit that I would take those any day over the ones I have danced with in the past.
I’ll stop here, as I reckon it’s unwise of me to continue down this slippery slope, but will instead pull him ever closer to my heart, hoping that this relationship emulate the trials and tribulations of an everlasting gobstopper.