My love for men & food...

I was laying in bed this morning thinking about men. [Sorry, Mom!] I also woke up unusually *RAVENOUS*, so I was also thinking about food. And, yes, my mind skipped, danced, and pranced along until I was laying there thinking about how some of the most standout men in my life have been the ones who have cooked for me...or not.

*sigh*

There was Dom. Ooooof. Lotsa lessons there, including why I was meant to never smoke, but he sure did make me a believer in simultaneous, um, you-know-whats. He was a Sous Chef at an Italian restaurant and used to woo me with all sorts of deliciousness...including a pizza with a heart-shaped roasted red pepper (not on that Hallmark-iest of holidays either).

*sigh*

Mr. Park Avenue would make deliciously simple, gourmet meals. And we ran hot...'til I joked about having a water fight in his kitchen. Talk about fizzle.

There was J. Didn't show his love for me in a lot of the ways that I truly desired, but he would go out of his way to make sure I was fed. Never believe that you can't win a woman with food!

R., the man who turned me into an unknowing Other Woman (now there's a story!), never cooked for me, but wined and dined...and dined...and wined me.

Thank the stars that one's over and done with.

Steve never cooked for me...and I'm still, to this day, glad he dumped me. [Even though it stung like the Dickens at the time.]

Even since I've been in the Mitten State, there have been men who catch my eye because of their talents with the food items. Some who have cooked just for me, some who have cooked for not just me...and all shall remain nameless because they're all currently in my life in some capacity. Well, most of 'em. (But that's a different story for a different time and, truly, the outcome is still a wee bit undecided.) And I'll letchy'all speculate, but I'm not namin' names.

Moral of this monologue? Cook for me. Feed me. Deliver me food. It'll be worth it...