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Vegan Venus

Vegan Venus

   The years gather speed like a locomotive bound for a mountain crest. Our love train rises up the pass like the little engine that could. After over a decade of crossing the great plains of marriage, we find ourselves ascending a notch lush with new growth.
     “Honey, it gives me irrepressible joy to pronounce that we kicked your beef-eating habit in the ass. You haven’t eaten red meat for a decade.”
     “You make rabbit food taste so savory. Never underestimate the power of a nurse who wields a vegan recipe book.”
     “Yes, but you did cheat at the burger joint. How should we celebrate?”
     “Let’s go to the girl’s roller derby.”
     “You just want to get an eye full of those girls going at it like Amazon warriors. You get turned on by that.”
     “Hey, don’t you get excited by football players?”
     “Are you kidding me? A bunch of hairy Neanderthals slapping each other’s butts? Hell yes!”
     I reply, “I bet you would have gotten a field goal
out of visiting the men’s locker room.”    
     “Long before women were allowed in the locker room for professional sports I got to interview the football players in their dressing room for the high school newspaper.”
     I ask her, “Did you see them naked?”
     Bianca laughs and says, “I think they were more audacious because I was there.”
     “Were there any rules?”
     “Women in the locker room was uncharted territory. So I made up the rules as I went. For instance, I would go into the shower room while they were drying off. But something about being with them while showering without the towel felt a bit invasive even though their privates were also uncovered when drying off.”
     “I find it amazing that women athletes in games like basketball have taken up the football player’s slap on the buns.”
     Bianca replies, “I got to see the guys do the bun slap thing one better than what the spectators in the stands did because in the locker it was done on their bare bottoms.”
     “I occasionally covered the women’s basketball page for our school rag. However, I never was invited into their locker room.”
     Bianca says, “Trust me there were no lesbian orgies going on in there. You weren’t missing out on anything.”
     “I could have seen more at a strip joint,” I say in a slip of the tongue.
     She replies, “Well you know John, at the Chippendales Review some of the girls get close to the stage, scream, and put money in the guy’s thongs. Other girls stay far away from the stage and are quiet.” We have a moment of silence.
     “This is another example of female privilege. Women get to stuff the banana hammock whereas the delta of Venus is off-limits for men who have to settle for a leg garter.”
     She queries, “John, are you happy with me?  If so, tell me why you are happy. Your devoted wife needs to know.”
     “There are no if, and, or buts about it. Honey, I can always count on being your shoulder to cry on. You are moody, prone to weeping spells, and in need of constant attention. Besides that, you’re cute as a button. So you are my baby.”
    “Oh, you silver-tongued charmer. John when you get a tickle in your throat you act like you’ve got pneumonia. When your allergies kick up you have me apply mentholatum ointment, drip saltwater down your nose, and it’s like being at work at the hospital. If your hamburgers aren’t well done you curl your lips. When I substitute tofu for meatballs in your spaghetti you play with your food and leave a pile of bean curd while eating only the noodles.”
     I say, “Honey, let’s double celebrate. How about we share a quart of chocolate ice cream?”
     “Well, there is all that fat and sugar. But we burned a lot of calories just now. So it sounds reasonable.”
     “Maybe we should just get a gallon to last a week,” I say.
     “I have no self-control. But I may put on some pounds.”
     “More to love” I riposte.
     “Let’s grow fat together” she quips.
     “You don’t have to get pregnant to get those love handles which I love to squeeze. Besides, what if we had a boy? You’d be outnumbered two to one.”
     “True. But now that we’re married the ticking of my biological clock is deafening. My grandma Irma had six children. Having kids is as much a family tradition as singing Yuletide carols for Christmas. I was born to make babies. Besides, how will I stay sane without a toddler to break into my chocolate stash?”
goldenmyst
Written by goldenmyst
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