This evening, like many of them, we are ready to watch a movie and just made some delicious salty popcorns to go with it. And instead of paying attention to the beginning of the film, my mind goes elsewhere and I start to think about my relationship with popcorns :
I eat them one by one, sometimes two if my fingers get confused. I realize that I am a slow nibbler, much slower than my man who does not care about gravity. Gravity which inevitably, as sudden and annoyed as a woman you ignore, will allow a drop of at least 10 pieces of the precious pile on his T-Shirt, his lap and on the floor or/and bed.
Infact voila ... the popcorn, it's hard to catch and it's frustrating.
I am sure you can you see yourself there, with some friends, reserved and nervous (reassure me and tell me that I am not the only one trying to always look good, the only one that doesn't eat enough at other people's houses but always too much at her own). I am sure that you know that moment during a movie when your man has his hand in the dish more often than outside? When the DVDzied nest is disturbed by your grabbing sounds, provoking a judging gaze were for a split second, he'll turn away from "Transporters" (that is one of the many times when our inner animal soul shows up, funny when you think of it…) and your hand expending itself again and again in fear not to find a speck left on your next mission (30 seconds later, an eternity compared to the rate of male hand ...).
Mixing all that in my head, I then humorously imagine my inner dog :
"Cautious but bold, I raise my head above the coffee table and discreetly steal the steak of the ''TV/Diner night"." Aahh…
I wrote this two minutes after my first Popcorn, finishing 8 minutes later and 8 minutes too late.
I love my man and my man loves Popcorn.
