Love is Food
I’m not sure when exactly I figured it out, but when I love someone I feed them.
Nah, not metaphorically - literally.
When I had crushes in school I gave them extra Valentine’s Day candy. My unrequited love for my teacher I solidified by randomly buying them a soda, then rushing away before I became an awkward mess. Thankfully everyone just assumed I was a chubby kid who shared a lot.
When I first started dating I planned all our excursions around where we went to eat. This restaurant, that cafe, this diner, etc. We’d spend half our conversation chewing and that was fine by me. Probably safer given I have a tendency to ramble.
When I was hopelessly single and depressed I lost weight because food lost its meaning for me. No joke. The skinniest I have ever been in my life was also the period when I could not get laid to save my starving soul.
When I got back into the dating game I quickly gained weight. Honestly the most sex I’ve ever had was also when I weighed the most - weird, right? All those ads telling us to lose weight and look good, yet I gained weight and apparently pulled more people into orbit by sheer increased gravity.
When I sought out partners I admit I shallowly felt more attracted to husky folks. Skinny people to me just look sad. Maybe because when I was skinny I was sad, or because I assume they’re just not eating enough. However I corrected this behavior in myself and tried to look at everyone objectively (I can feel attraction to a wide range of bodies, actually, I just need more context/personality to fill in the bigger picture not this "swipe left/right" bullshit).
In the end I did not end up with the dream gravy boat of my dreams, however I have discovered my love is a bottomless pit I can endlessly fill with heartfelt caloric offerings and that’s satisfied me too. Maybe even more than the husky person I probably would have overfed to heart disease in their old age (sometimes the person you need may not be the person you originally thought, eh?).
I buy donuts (the ones with filling not those empty, heartless rings of depression) every weekend to express my love.
I make grilled cheese sandwiches with butter, even though I have nonstick pans and it’s wholly unnecessary and unhealthy.
When I serve dinner I am more flirtatious and sexy than when I’m actually soliciting my partner for sex (which is usually just a simple, “Hey, wanna have sex now?” and then done...yeah, sorry kids, routines happen in marriage 'cause romance takes energy).
You could try to psychoanalyze this as some hunter/provider mentality but honestly I just love watching people feel satisfied, knowing I helped make them that way.
Whether it’s a hot cup of joe, a stress snack break, an edible bouquet, a homemade treat, a birthday slice, a cold one at the end of a long day, a night out, a week of sustained healthy meals with vegetables (yes, you must eat these! I can provide smartly!) - it’s how I say, “I love you! Please, sustain your existence so I can continue to do so!”
When I fell out of love? Well...yeah, I stopped feeding people at that point. I mean, if you stop feeding them they go away, right?
Now if I can just convince my mother that having a partner who can't cook isn't the end of the world (I think my family should have been Italian...)