The Edible Man

"Run, run as fast as you can! You can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!"

The Edible Man

No one likes to be called selfish.

I don't mind.

I am selfish.

I am selfish with my time, selfish with my attention, selfish with my love. For what it's worth, it's my life, and though I'm willing to share some appetizers and a few desserts with others, not many get the full meal deal.

My kids get the whole buffet, and sometimes I think it must be a little daunting. Far too much to figure out, but they know what they like about me, and so they usually stick with their usual entrées. My son connects with me in ways my daughter doesn't, and my daughter connects with me on her own terms. My son likes to know everything; my daughter is much more selective. My girls (granddaughters) are too young to even know there's a menu. They're still fascinated with the ambience of the restaurant.

When I am in a relationship with a beautiful woman, I realise that being a part of my life in that special way is sometimes an acquired taste.

I've long accepted the fact that a creative mind can be as palatable as top sirloin steak one day and as crusty as two-day-old macaroni 'n' cheese the next.

Still, I offer as much of me as is necessary and as quickly as she may want it. All she has to do is ask. I don't hold back, but I don't rush things either. I have learned from experience that every relationship has its own appetite and its own way of digesting information, quirks, passion, and all those other delicacies of the heart.

Here, in the morning, I guess you get the "soup du jour" or some kind of "special of the day." Some people think that they want more, but quite frankly, both the soup and the specials are very filling, and I insist that people watch their calorie intake.

Too much of anything can lead to gas, and people will be indiscreetly farting here and there and fanning their fannies to disperse the fumes.

And, Lord knows, we don't want that.