The Hours Of PerfectionThe household chores are done. Labors have been engaged in and accomplished with visible results. Dinner is on the stove. The working day is drawing to a close and I can relax enough for that first beer. So cold and refreshing. I feel like I can be calm now, relax and settle in.
A second and maybe a third beer washes down my throat. My stomach expands and my belly distends even further above my belt. Out and out as if it where making room for . . . .
Chips, a great big bowl. And, maybe, yes, I do have some creamy ranch dip. Salty, crunchy nice. Every tastebud alive. Another beer to wash it down. Chips gone. Maybe a smudge of ranch at the corner of my mouth. The alcohol has worked its way through my blood. Difficult to say no to eating.
Everything tastes so good now. I want to try everything. Sugary, fatty, salty. Why not?
A hamburger with melted cheese. Leftover macoroni salad. Is that bacon in the fridge? More! An ice cream sandwich and cookies from the jar quickly and lustfully disappear into my mouth.
It has been hours since that first perfect beer. So full. My basketball of a belly is finally sated. Breathing deep so the swirl of fatty food in my packed belly can digest. It is late and the cobwebs are decending on my mind. Time for slumber so that I can work and await the next perfect moment of another afternoon.