I loved her so much I was happy to get by just eating the peanuts out of her poo. These last six months, her meals were all poo and no peanuts. I remembered that for two years we had infrequently put forth the energy to discuss our relationship, putting tags on those revealed peanuts which were keeping me true to her and hungry for more. I had progressively realized that after each revelation, one or two less peanuts were to be found in each meal... the very peanuts I had thought we'd just constructively identified.
So, at the end of this trail of goobers, bereft of peanuts and under a glut of dinner poo, I knew now was time to head off on my own to find static legumes out there on the bigger world's dinner plate... and I verbalized this to her in a tearful conversation that laid my heart bare to her understanding of what it had been that we were sharing. At a last unexpected supper, Behold!, something resisted the creamy siphoning of this final course... a peanut appeared at the very last bite. A true inner joy that our togetherness was not swirling away on the spinning tide of a final flush brought me before her once again; elated, excited and optimistic as ever I thought I was capable to look at this too-often dark, indifferent and disappointing world. I told her a peanut had appeared and that, for my part, we could still dance in a glimmering glow of a potential committed and intimate togetherness. I wrote this out and let her read it... With that once-enchanting look of mischief in her eye, she said that "potentially" does not fit with "committed," and that I was "fablistically fatalistic."
She later served up the next meal and it was as consistently creamy and poo-ish as velveeta cheese fresh out of a microwave after five minutes. Now I'm in a studio and doing the purple-ketosis-dipstick Atkins Plan. The Dr. has identified that Poo is too high in carbohydrates.
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