On Top Of Spaghetti

“What’s up with the flaccid penis?”  I had to ask.

“What?” I could here her laugh over the phone. I couldn’t believe she wanted me to repeat it.  I think if a guy says that phrase 3 times he’s cursed with a…uhm, overcooked spaghetti.

 

Still, it was only twice so I asked again.  I wanted to know.  The spaghetti seemed to be on the tip of everyone’s tongue, and tongues were wagging on D360.  I couldn’t tell what the real issue was, but it did appear that everybody liked their spaghetti al dente.

 

I wasn’t surprised.  I just wanted to know we were waving the limp flag around. I first saw it when one friend posted that her picture could be seen next to afore mentioned spaghetti. She found it disconcerting to see herself, face-to-face with uncooked spaghetti on the website.  I couldn’t blame her; I wouldn’t want to be there either. Yet her post didn’t yield any clues as to why it was a concern. I still couldn’t tell why old softy had everybody’s panties in a bunch.

 

So, while talking to a band girl flautist I know, I asked.

 

“Uhm, why are you asking me…?”

“I didn’t see the original article, why is everybody talking about it?”

“Oh…” And she shared the story. I felt like I was back in kindergarten with Miss Welsh sharing Dr. Seuss, only my new friend couldn’t flip the book around so I could see pictures. That’s fine. I wasn’t interested in looking at the pictures from her book.  Once you’ve seen one plate of overcooked spaghetti, you’ve seen them all.

 

“I do not like it Sam I am…”

 

For those of you feeling around the dark the same way I was, here’s the story: a woman posted on a flaccid penis -- well, more “about” than “on.” I would call “on” a comment, and certainly not a post. At lest in my experience.  No matter how I brag, nobody’s fitting a full blog on mine.  But Anyway…

 

I guess she wanted green eggs and ham.  She wanted it on a bus, she wanted it on a train, she wanted it with some sauce, she wanted it with champagne.  Unfortunately, the guy she’d hoped would present her with the course she desired only came with overcooked spaghetti.

 

I’m a cook.  I’ve served it before. I know how embarrassing overcooked spaghetti is. It’s worse then serving desert before the appetizer.  There’s no way around it; once you show spaghetti, you can’t pretend it’s a side of beef, and once you’ve made overcooked spaghetti, it’s hard to make anything else. For the record though, there isn’t a cook out there who likes serving it anymore that the patron likes it on their plate.  Still, it doesn’t have to ruin the whole dining experience. It takes a soft touch, and a woman who knows her way around the kitchen, but you can still make a tasty treat.

 

As my friend explained it, this woman was only willing to critique. She wanted fast food and not an evening out. Unsatisfied, she threw the plate back in the cooks face.  In the end she got what she really wanted: she ate alone.

 

Neither of my friends seemed to have much respect for Lady Dine and Ditch. Maybe that’s why they’re my friends.  I didn’t really have a problem with the post, until the blogger admitted her pride in her callous nature. She felt good for telling the poor guy she’d rather pin her tail to a donkey. I mean it’s ok to want what we want, but it’s something else to skewer somebody else in the process. And then there’s the poor donkey.

 

And yet we’re all guilty.  Whether it’s a plate of spaghetti, or not emptying the trash, we’ve all given as many callous dishes as we’ve received.  We’re human, it’s part of our nature.  Oh, we try to be good, but the when we don’t get what we want, we get a little pissy.

 

And yet isn’t that what we’re called to overcome in marriage? I know I know, the woman on top of spaghetti wasn’t looking for anything more than a meatball. She wanted a deep dish of fun, but for me, even the deep dish has to lead somewhere.  Me, I try to avoid dining in places I don’t plan on returning.  If I’m breaking bread with somebody, then I want them to be a part of my long term. And I would never do what she did to a dining partner, no matter how unsatisfying the meal.

 

Half the fun in cooking is discovering what spices the other person enjoys. Sure, not every dish will meet every diner’s expectation, but sometimes you have to get back into the kitchen and try cooking again, because if you can’t come together on the good stuff, why would you even try?

 

And maybe that was her point, but still, have a heart, because what comes around goes around. Some day somebody’s going to bring the sirloin, and won’t think she’s worth the doggy bag.

 

And that’s the thing with relationships great and small, stoic of flaccid, It takes both sides to make something great, and when you give a little kindness, you can get something great in return.  I may not have learned much from my marriage, but I’d like to say that I did learn that.