Primitive Brrrrrraaaaiiinns
I had a great idea for a blog entry last night. I'd just returned to my apartment from a Birthday dinner at The Keg. My mind was flush with protein (albeit of the fowl kind) and my Beau and I were sitting on the couch. He'd had way more protein - of the cow kind - so it was safe to sit together without that primitive brain instinct of mine getting in the way.
You know, the one that tells the smaller person to keep a safe distance from the bigger person if the smaller person thinks the bigger person might be feeling a bit peckish.
Anyway, we're sitting there discussing something and he says, "___, _ _____ ____ _____________ ___ __________ _______ ____ ____ ____ __ __________ ___ ______ __ ___." To which I distinctly remember saying, "I love that! Do you mind if I steal it and blog about it tomorrow?" Naturally, being of a giving nature, he said, "Of course not!" So, then I said (knowing myself by now), "Okay. But remind me tomorrow that I said I wanted to blog about this."
That's what I remember saying. I also remember thinking, "Now, I will file this away in my memory so it won't be like every other time he's said something that I want to use in a blog entry and then can't remember the next day." What I want to know is: How come I never say, "Now, I will write this down so it won't be like every other time he's said something that I want to use in a blog entry and then can't remember the next day."
Because I never do. Even though I should know by now that I won't remember what he said even ten minutes later, let alone after a night of wild and crazy dreams because, even though the Chicken Creole didn't seem very spicy at the time of eating, digesting while sleeping quadruples the spice effect on the human brain.
Anyway, my memory is so fleeting now that I didn't even realize this morning that I'd forgotten the brilliant utterance I was going to blog about today (which is why I'm blogging about this and not that), and I was saying to my Beau that, even though we were at The Keg - where the steak is danged good - I still didn't have a hankering for red meat. I even found the chicken a bit heavy - protein-wise. Then I opined that, maybe as women get older, they crave less red meat because in earlier times - they didn't get any. Which led to that joke, "How many British/Italian/Jewish mothers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" "Oh, don't mind me, dear - I'll just sit here in the dark."
Because it's true. The older we get, women in particular, the less space we take up. I mean, women even lose bone mass. So, I started wondering if my decreasing desire for red meat (and it's really decreased, pretty much down to zero) is just my primitive brain instincts kicking in and telling me that I need to learn to survive on stuff that's easy to catch - like berries. Which fits because I've been craving a homemade raspberry pie like nobody's business. If it were possible to recall my Gram from The Great Beyond for just one homemade raspberry pie, it would almost be worth it.
And tied to my lack of desire for red meat, is this insistent little voice in my head reminding me to, "Broil a steak for the Beau." Because, feminist that I am, I also have very strong primitive brain instincts that have - so far - kept me from being killed and eaten by the nearest hungry man.
Sure, you laugh. But on whose real authority do we have it that cannibalism has always been a sacred taboo in human societies? Scientists'? Don't make me laugh. Scientists believe in all kinds of wacky things. Evolution, climate change, space. The list goes on and on. And I find it very hard to believe that starving cavemen didn't start licking their lips when they realized that Grandma couldn't run very fast and even if she could wouldn't get very far before the woolly mammoth monster would get her and choke her down right quick. And why should the woolly mammoth monster get all the easy prey?
So, just to be sure there was no misunderstanding, I said out loud that, although I'm not much for eating meat, myself, these days - I'd be sure to broil a steak for him. Then I thought maybe that wasn't quite enough insurance so I added, "Every couple of weeks".
I dunno. I probably should have said, "Once a week" - but I didn't want to raise expectations, only to have them dashed, and build up a slow burn and hunger for revenge.
Gawd. It's such a fine balance. Respecting and observing Feminist beliefs and practices while paying heed to primitive brain instincts.
Well, I'm off in search of a hearty salad for lunch.
Say, have you noticed that a bunch of asparagas costs more than a nicely marbled 8 ounce steak?
It's a fact. A Canadian fact.
