Waffles And Spaghetti: Breakfast Of Champions
I love analogies. And this one is so simple. Plus it’s food – so I can picture it in my head.
I also have a history of giving out nicknames, most of which are breakfast foods – I’m not sure why…
Maybe it’s because I like to have sex for breakfast?? #breakfastofchampions
I used to start little love notes to one man with these phrases – and every day, he had a different nickname:
“Good morning, Coco Puff.”
…or “Happy Monday, Scrambled Eggs.”
…or “Hello, Pop Tart.”
Love is a bicycle with two pancakes for wheels. You may see love as more of an exercise in hard work, but I see it as more of a breakfast on the go.
So when I was chatting with Captain Amazing, during one of our many underwear conversations in the kitchen, I explained to him that I would be happy to help him with some of the stuff he needed to get done.
…not because I really wanted to pick up heavy pieces of lumber and get splinters.
…not because I really enjoy doing chores – I’ve got my own shit to do.
It’s plain-old selfishness – I directly benefit from his shit getting done. #letsplay #iwantmoresex
His “shit-to-do” list is rather extensive because he spent the last couple of years in the zombie apocalypse –
No chores get done when you’re there. You have no brain or heart, and you just don’t care.
I totally understand that.
And it’s overwhelming when your “shit-to-do” list is lengthy and your time to get it done is limited.
Here’s where I benefit: The fewer items he has on his chore list, the more he gets to do me and check off my sex-to-do list. #winwin #hissexrocksmyworld
It’s teamwork – and when two people work well together, then they should just get shit done and then play. Just saying…
He described that he needed to move the lumber, have it labeled, and have all of the hardware that will then hold all of this lumber together sorted and organized.
“I’m an excellent helper,” I said.
He sighed and smiled at me – His eyes met mine, and he sighed again. He shook his head.
He said, “I’m a waffle, and you’re spaghetti.”
“That’s a new one,” I replied.
“I like to keep things boxed, like the square in a waffle,” he explained. “Women are all tangled together like spaghetti.”
He tangled his hands together as he described the spaghetti.
It made perfect sense.
Fucking genius! #boysarestupid #exceptforgeniuses
However, I did get a bit defensive inside my head – I dislike being lumped into the “women” category.
Not that I’m not proud to be a woman – I’m very grateful that I am. #multipleorgasms
I just like to be unique, rather than stereotypical.
I told him that I had described the linear thought processes of men in my blog… when I explained the directions to my G-spot…
He agreed that he is definitely a linear thinker.
At least I understand the simple workings of a man’s brain. #straightshot #tothepoint
It’s probably more important that I understand the workings of my own brain – so the zombies don’t eat it again. #avoidzombies
I have referred to his “waffles-and-spaghetti” analogy many times since that conversation, both to him directly, and to myself.
I like having boundaries, and truly need boundaries otherwise I’ll end up back in the zombie apocalypse.
For example, if I do something rather “girly,” I will say, “I’m not trying to be spaghetti here – I’m just being task-oriented.”
Zombies consume either waffles or spaghetti but not both at the same time – They don’t mix their foods.
If a person has no balance, and he is either all waffle or she is all spaghetti, then the zombies will find that person quite tasty – and then back to the apocalypse they go.
I made that mistake when I was married and in the relationshit that followed – No boundaries –
There was spaghetti all over the place, like a food fight in a school cafeteria.
I get shit done, and I will take on a lot of projects to get what I want on the other side.
My mistake was that I didn’t negotiate the proper payment for my chore services, nor did I put a limit on what I was willing to do.
I would end up doing laundry, cooking, cleaning, organizing, running errands, taking the kids everywhere, etc. etc., and not be appropriately compensated and not have anything for myself. #tankempty
I was 100% spaghetti with no waffle.
Most women do this – and then equate spaghetti with love.
Remember, zombies eat singular foods.
So this little “relatedness” thing I’m currently in with Captain Amazing is deliciously brilliant and incredibly simple.
It’s a waffle topped with spaghetti – It’s the breakfast of champions – and I love sex for breakfast. #eatfirstthing #startmydayright
– Plus it’s my kind of spaghetti – No pasta because I don’t eat pasta.
(I use my spiral vegetable sliceron zucchini to make my “noodles.” Yummy.)
I negotiate my payment first – plus I’m paid in advance.
And since I am a woman, and my behavioral DNA will tend to have entangled mess when it comes to certain things, especially maternal or home-oriented, he will tell me if I’m being too spaghetti…
…but I only accept his opinion on this matter…
I just don’t need a bunch of people telling me what we can and can’t do together. That pisses me off!
I do know that I have quite a bit of waffle in me, however – Probably more than most women. #backoffboys
I have my routines; I separate work from play; and I have a stubborn independent streak in me which prevents me from asking for help, even when I need it.
It’s really refreshing to sleep in the middle of the bed and not be all squished or touched constantly.
Sleep and snuggle should not occur at the same time – On this matter, I’m definitely a waffle. #ineedmysleep
…and the idea of enmeshing many aspects of my life with a man completely freaks me out. #getbackinyourbox
So I just remember to put waffles on top of my spaghetti in the amounts that work well for my appetite. #insatiable
I do need his “shit-to-do” list to get smaller because my G-spot is waiting for patiently for his manhood to come out and play… #ineedmysugar #ineeditbad #iamstarving
By the way, I have witnessed times when his waffle has spaghetti all over it – I just giggle to myself because I think it’s adorable. #shhhh #oursecret
My penis smells like pasta. Also, I personally tested it out, and your spaghetti’s not too hot now, if you want to eat it.