The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Thieving assholes

My mother told this story of my father, before they were married. She'd made candies, wintergreen flavored, a lot of work involved. They'd gone for a walk, and he was, as she described it, gobbling them up. Until they came to a bridge, and he found out they were wintergreen.

"Are you trying to poison me?" And he threw the rest of them in the stream.

She was as much shocked at his not just handing them back to her as at his peculiar accusation.

She never said explicitly, but this was obviously the point at which she knew what she was getting into, and should have run away screaming. And didn't.

The ex used to eat my chocolate, asserting "well, you left them." Yes, I left them because I was saving them for later, as I'd always done with any treat, savor it, stretch it out, make it last. Halloween candy could well last until my birthday, or longer. He never would allow me this, my little treats were his. I learned to gobble up anything I had, never to count on it being there.

I can't imagine D doing this. He always asks, even when it's clear that the treat is for both of us, just to make sure. We delight in treating each other. We share, and honor each other's 'saved.' We are generous with each other. Seems a much better way to live.

He is welcome to any chocolate I have, but never takes it without asking, and receiving permission first.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I really don't want comments here. Deal.

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.