Fried pickles

Rather than say anything with content today, I'm in the mood to tell a story.

I was at a restaurant with a lover, and it happened to be a restaurant that I wanted to try out with my spouse (note: going to this place with my non-spousal primary, even doing so first, does nothing to prevent me from trying the experience out again with my spouse).  I wanted to try this place because I'd heard it has great fried pickles, and my spouse loves a good fried pickle (incidentally, I'd heard that from the same lover who took me there, though the information was second-hand).

I'm pretty picky about food, and one of the many qualities I look for in food is health benefits.  So if I'd followed my individual druthers, I might have opted for a side salad.  But I'm awfully fond of my spouse, and my spouse is awfully fond of fried pickles, and I wanted the experience of eating great fried pickles with my spouse and watching him be delighted.  The only thing that was missing was my spouse.  And I ordered the fried pickles.  Perfectly self-aware emotional eating.

Now I know full well that eating fried pickles doesn't magically make my spouse appear, much as the taste reminds me of him.  But through the practicality of texting (and yes, I was very politely texting one lover while eating dinner with another), it became clear my spouse happened to be in the neighborhood with nothing preventing him from dropping by.  So he did magically appear, and I happened to have a plate of fried pickles ready for him.  And I had exactly the experience I was looking for but thought I wouldn't have when I ordered them.

Incidentally, the fact that we could draw on the tables reminded me of another lover, so of course we drew a picture that reminded me of her.  She, sadly, did not materialize.  But I'm still in favor of being prepared to delight a lover at a moment's notice.

Want opinions?  I've got 'em!  Email me at polysaturated at rocketmail dot com, and I'll wax philosophically on your topic of choice.