Not For Consumption

AGGGGH!!!!!!

Have you seen this saying before?

You have?

Well, I hadn't. Apparently, this is an tired, old, jokey-lesbian saying. Gayelles have been kidding around with this for years. I had no idea.

I saw this phrase on a lesbian's t-shirt in Grand Rapids, Michigan last night. I happened to be in a weird, dark, gay diner called Pub 43 (for-no-particular-reason-I-totally-wasn't-trying-to-pick-up-any-old-school-butches-in-an-economically-depressed-area-or-anything.)

The t-shirt offender had her back to me. She was playing pool. A french fry, half-eaten, fell softly out of my astonished mouth.

Do you have any idea how sweet even a tablespoon of honey is??

Christ on a bike.

Unable to tear my eyes away from the horrific t-shirt; unable to stem the tide of images the shirt suggested, I promptly threw up all over my plate and died and then puked again.

Nonononononono. "Dip me in honey and feed me to the lesbians" is ABSOLUTELY UNACCEPTABLE.

Do you know why, homosexuals?

Because I only have a few hard-and-fast (yes) rules about sex, and one of the most important is:

Food and Sex Must Never, Ever Happen At the Same Time.

FUCK NO. No whipped cream and strawberries. No eating while fucking. No chocolate sauce dripping off your lover's body. No eating sushi off naked girls. No cucumbers from the garden. No flavored lubes, no edible underpants, no motherfucking licking honey off any part of another human being's body, ever ever ever!

This rule has cost me dearly.

An ex of mine once brought home some chocolate body paint. It had a cute little paintbrush and came with honey dust. Harmless, right?

Maybe for you.

She waggled the brush at me playfully.

"C'mere," she said.

"Um, no thanks," I said.

The Ex was insistent.

I was polite but firm. No way was I playing with that chocolate fuckery.

The Ex called me boring. She called me unspontaneous!

I didn't rise to the bait.

She said that, you know what? We were always having the same fucking fight, and that fight was really about control. I was selfish and only wanted to do things on my agenda. (This is actually true.)

I didn't care. The Ex was hot. In those days, you could call me names as long as you looked nice naked.
She started crying. I went to hug her.

In a flash, she had that paintbrush out; dipped it in the chocolate, and wiped it on my cheek!

BITCH YOU CAN'T EAT ME!! I AM NOT YOUR LITTLE SUCKLING PIG!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

We broke up shortly after this little episode.

Now, I know a lot of you are going to disagree with me on this, but c'mon!

Food and sex don't go together.

Eating is a sensual experience. Sex is a sensual experience.
Both at the same time is too many sensual experiences. Greedy!

Plus, if you turn into a food-sex person, you'll start feeding your partner bites at the restaurant table, just to watch her mouth. (Remember when guys used to do that on Elimadate? They'd get the biggest mouthful of fondue and "feed" it to their dumb date. The dates always opened wide to "take the load.")

I know the dyke in the t-shirt at Pub 43 was just trying to announce to the room that she was gay, but everybody already knew that. And now we had nightmare fodder.

She ruined my dinner. My life's ruined, too. Btw.

At least until I forget about this.

And that could take daaaaaaays.