A few weeks ago, two very good friends and I went off to the woods to pursue our usual trail. Harmon is a regular, but our Special Guest Hiker hadn’t been along with us for this particular hike yet, and we were excited to have him along. Ken is an Ornithologist, and works in a major capacity at the NC Zoo and being the nerds we are, Harmon and I were very excited to hear some of Ken’s expertise.
As we trudged along, the subject matter of our discussion turned from politics to zoology but only stayed briefly at each topic. The subject that seemed to hold us nearly the entire hike was that of food. As one of us would describe a delectable treat, the other two of us would moan or groan or shout out and slaveringly wipe away drool from our respective mouth.
If we droned on long enough about another subject, even something as interesting to the three of us as the pileated woodpecker, someone would eventually shout “Someone talk about food again!” And we would settle into the discussion.
Three quarters of the way through the hike, I couldn’t take it any longer and suggested that as soon as we had finished and returned to town, we should stop by our favorite diner for their special burger plate. And it was unanimously agreed upon.
As we sat munching at our delicious meals, I became very aware of a change in preference of subject matter in my own mind for conversation topics. In high school, sitting around our table, munching our cardboard cafeteria pizza over our cardboard cafeteria trays, our eyes would dart around, catching glimpses of the attractive young women in the jungles of the high school food chain. One could almost say that among our small, male dominated group, that we were connoisseurs of the beautiful woman.
Of course, at 18, what young man isn’t a thrall of his feverishly hormonal imagination? Even outside the school, as our group toured local shopping malls and eating venues, a weather eye was always peeled for the beautiful women who might walk by. We would whoop and holler and share looks of incredulity and shake our heads at our bad luck and not being able to get a girl like that to go out with anyone of us.
If we happened to have a ‘Hot Waitress’ however, we were all mute, somehow only able to mutter and stammer our orders, painfully aware of the scorching proximity of beauty even as it burned us like the sun in the desert.
In those days, and for many years after, even into marriage, I was hard pressed not to notice a shapely woman that came within the perimeters of everyday life. Yes, I have even been the painful recipient of an elbow gouge from my wife for staring too obviously at someone. And while I maintain that I will always be an appreciator of the female form, I have noticed a change.
The old adage that the only way to a man’s heart being through his stomach is perhaps the honest-to-goodness truth. My wife’s indelible beauty is inarguable, but her meatloaf? It is the nectar of the gods.
Even winking and fluttery-eyed, with kisses and caresses, she couldn’t get me to remember to put the seat down, or to put my hiking boots away. But, if she promised me Homemade Anything, I’d be putty in her hands.
So, here it is then. I’ve moved from being a stupid boy who cannot help but stare at a gorgeous woman, to being a stupid man who cannot help but think longingly about yesterday’s supper, while dreaming about tonight’s dinner treat.
A colleague at work, who has traveled the gamut of male fascinations, said that the next topic of preference for most men is what hurts, and why. Of course, he said the dinner bell still elicits the kind of reaction that a beautiful woman used to, but in the long run he said, dinner, the recliner and a nap are the things he looks forward to the most.
Here’s to food!
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