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The smallest of pleasures....
I'd been thinking about her all afternoon. You see, I saw her this morning and I hadn't been able to get her out of my mind all day. There she was, dressed all in red, staring me down. Taunting me. Teasing me. Pulling me in with a casual indifference. But I had places to go today. Things to do. People to see. I had to leave her.
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But I came back. I always do. And now, after an afternoon apart, my thirst for her is overpowering. I nearly burst as I raced through the house to meet her. My stomach growling for her forbidden pleasures. And when I found her, waiting in the kitchen, I found myself giddy. Happy as a schoolboy released to recess. I smiled a smile one usually reserves for sunsets and pure ecstasy.
Now I won't lie to you. There have been others. Many, many others. But no one can compare to the original. They either had too much body or where too overpowering. Too fragrant. Too sacrine sweet. And it's odd when I think of the others. It's as if they, all along, have known my secret love affair. It's as if they were emulating her. Trying to be her. As if they were on some quest to be my all American beauty. But, I guess I was never truly honest with them either. Because, when I have strayed from her, it has been with the best of intentions. I would leave in search of a new love, despite the fact that she was my true north, and the one object that all others would be judged by.
I mean, I often have found my heart to be empty at times. Not without joy, but without the thrills of new love. Every relationship goes through this at one time or another, but what I found in this last departure, is that she is my one true love. And that the emptiness that I felt was not that of despair but of comfort. It actually wasn't empty at all, it was calm, and it was I who was misreading the signs. How silly youth and inexperience can be.
So now I come to her with open eyes, still heart and trembling hands. She has always been there for me and it is good to be home. I hold her closely with a firm grip, positioning my hand on her can. I sense her anticipation of the moment too and I watch as perspiration slides down her side. My tongue slowly wets my lips as I prepare for the rapture of our embrace. I bring her to me and press my lips against her and drink her sweet nectar. I feel my throat slowly burn as she fills me with her love.
God I love Coca-Cola.
*Look for Mr. Sweeney's article "Frito Lay's Cheesey Love Triangles" later this week.
**The opinions expressed in Weekly Commentary are those of Mr. Sweeney and his alone. Any attempt at finding sanity or logic in his rantings are feeble, at best.
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