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A Taste of Gratitude

I’ve decided aside from sex, cooking for real is one of the best ways to tell a man, “thank you.”

Sometimes, I think they appreciate the cooking more, because you’ve gone out of your way to plan, prepare a meal and actually give them something to sustain their life and energy.

But the key to being successful at this is um, actually being able to cook.

Aside from having a great rack or a lovely bum, nice eyes or fabulous hair, I do believe that men like to brag about their woman being able to cook.

Women who can cook have a serious advantage over any woman any day. I’m sorry.

If you happen to be good-looking and can cook, ladies, I believe the world is yours.

I’ve mentioned in other posts how cooking makes me feel womanly, like I’ve finally entered true womandom when I set a meal before a man, any man, not even men I’m romantically involved with and they look just satisfied and happy eating my food. I feel that way if my dad eats my food, or even if my nephew gulps down my pancakes in approval (I just cut them for him wrong. Cut first then syrup. Got it.).

So let’s get to why I’m even bringing this up. The older gent who I’ve now gone out with at least six times over the last two or three weeks, did me a huge favor.

Night three of derecho, (which left millions without power in 100 degree heat) he offered up his place to crash when I sounded angry and frantic that all of the nearby hotels were booked solid.

He was an ultimate gentleman. He slept on the couch, I took his bed. We stayed up for a while watching television and adding commentary about what we were watching and I showered and slept. I neglected to share this info with anyone. I know. It’s silly, because it’s not like anything happened.

I decided for such a deed, and for not trying anything at all, even going as far as sitting on an opposite facing couch for television watching and offering up his home during my distress, and being such a good sport every time we say good night and all he gets is a hug…he shall be rewarded with a home-cooked dinner.

I will hold this dinner at my home.

Besides, I had so much fun with him Sunday night watching Hunger Games I don’t mind. He is really a good sport. Even when I taunted him about serving in Operation Desert Storm while I was in the third grade trying to master cursive, he handled it like a champ. Embarrassed, but a champ nonetheless. We keep trying to decide if I’m really mature or he’s really immature, he prefers the former. I do too.

He said he needed to scrub thoroughly and then seek therapy.

I had a good hearty laugh.

I’m still trying to figure out the menu.

I’m leaning towards doing something with shrimp and rice and vegetables.

I’ve been wavering back and forth about the kissing, hoping some perfect time would happen to take the pressure off.

One friend suggested I continue doing what I’m doing and when I’m ready, I’m ready.

Another said to just get it over with so you know whether or not you even like being kissed by this person.

I’m still not so sure.

The sad part is, if he were even ten years younger, I would have probably mounted him by now and he would have had full under over bra action. We would have been snuggled up on the couch, talking for hours a few times a week, alternating houses.

So the 17-year gap is still screwing with me. If I met a man my age who was exactly like him in every other regard, I’d probably be well on my way to love and potentially thinking, maybe I could almost almost get married again (ha ha).

His patience is so admirable. Oh, but the age. He has such a warm smile and I feel safe around him. Oh, but he dresses like he’s ready for the golf course all the time. When he’s around, it’s all about me… Oh, how agonizing.

He’s even said that he’s totally attracted to me, but when I was ready for whatever, I would be ready. He would wait. He also seemed to have an understanding that if this didn’t go anywhere, he would be fine with it too. I can’t recall how he said it at dinner last week, but the way he said it was such a relief to me.

I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to learn here. Give older men a fighting chance, or slow your ass down with the men closer to your age.

I honestly feel like I’m in an old school courtship. He pays all the time. Usually by the second date with men in my peer group, they are looking around waiting, hoping you’ll go ahead and offer. Or just sit there forever until you pick it up because frankly they just can’t do it, but won’t say so.

I know we’re in times where young men are still living at home and the economy is brutal, but I have to say, even when I offer, he says no.

I’m also cooking because all of this going out for meals and drinks is getting expensive. I’ve been doing calculations in my head.

My last ex wined and dined me a great deal, but actually broke down and said to me, “Baby, this is too expensive. We need to start cooking.”

But then cooking became our thing. We’d spend time together chopping up things, enjoying the smells, tasting things, talking about our day, brushing up against each other. It turned into part bonding, part foreplay, and we saved money!

So here I am folks. I’m getting back in the kitchen to express my thanks to this man for being so wonderful to me. Oh boy.

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2 thoughts on “A Taste of Gratitude

  1. In my culture they said that love comes through the kitchen. “El amor entra por la cocina”.

    • Oh boy! You’re culture also involves the Spanish language, I can only imagine what wonderful foods are cooking in those kitchens. It’s easy to fall in love there! We shall see. We shall see…Thanks!

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