It is very possible that I am either an idiot, or stubborn.
Possibly both.
I returned to the tin of 17 year old olive oil and I said, “you are my challenge this October.
“You. Yes, you, and your nasty sly Italian coy smirk, taunting me, defying me with your brashness. Your long fingers beckoned me as I reached for the brand new olive oil on my counter, and you drew me in with your cheapness. Oh and you are cheap. Filthy dirty cheap. And you smell weirdly intriguing. Much like the nasty arm pit of a lover, familiar and rank all at once. At once, I am both repelled and seduced by your stank. I hate you, and yet I can’t separate myself from you. Sitting on my shelf, I feel compelled to turn you into something of use, something that is beautiful and wonderful. Just mingling in the soft warm liquid glow with some scented oils.
“Oh, the first time around was exciting! But then, like a 17 car crash on an overcrowded highway, everything happened so fast and all at once. I thought this was to be a thing of beauty, but no, it became a prison sandwich. Grotesque and contorted. The image is burned into my brain and the aftermath still darkens my drying rack.”
Disheartened and forlorn, I retreated to my normal life, but the images continued to haunt me.
This evening, I entered the dwelling of the alluring tin and stated, “I have plotted my revenge. Sought out how to conquer you and tame the terrible beast that you are. I will douse your rage with an excess of love and grace, and temper your temper with patience!”
Oh, the wild animal tried to separate from my grasp many a time, but I persisted. After many a minutes, I thought that perhaps I had been overzealous with the amount of grace poured, but as I began to lose heart, things pulled together. The cold and wild beast became tame, and wielded to my cultured ways.
Will things gel between us, or will the river of tenderness flow out, never to return.
I shall give it time, perhaps a day, maybe two, to see what the future holds.
*short version*
I think I got the rancid olive oil to not seize and not weirdly separate. I may have a mini drop loaf!!! Dude. With rancid oil! 0% sf, oo at 80% and co at 17% and sw at 3%.
Like I said, I may either be an idiot or stubborn, possibly both.
Possibly both.
I returned to the tin of 17 year old olive oil and I said, “you are my challenge this October.
“You. Yes, you, and your nasty sly Italian coy smirk, taunting me, defying me with your brashness. Your long fingers beckoned me as I reached for the brand new olive oil on my counter, and you drew me in with your cheapness. Oh and you are cheap. Filthy dirty cheap. And you smell weirdly intriguing. Much like the nasty arm pit of a lover, familiar and rank all at once. At once, I am both repelled and seduced by your stank. I hate you, and yet I can’t separate myself from you. Sitting on my shelf, I feel compelled to turn you into something of use, something that is beautiful and wonderful. Just mingling in the soft warm liquid glow with some scented oils.
“Oh, the first time around was exciting! But then, like a 17 car crash on an overcrowded highway, everything happened so fast and all at once. I thought this was to be a thing of beauty, but no, it became a prison sandwich. Grotesque and contorted. The image is burned into my brain and the aftermath still darkens my drying rack.”
Disheartened and forlorn, I retreated to my normal life, but the images continued to haunt me.
This evening, I entered the dwelling of the alluring tin and stated, “I have plotted my revenge. Sought out how to conquer you and tame the terrible beast that you are. I will douse your rage with an excess of love and grace, and temper your temper with patience!”
Oh, the wild animal tried to separate from my grasp many a time, but I persisted. After many a minutes, I thought that perhaps I had been overzealous with the amount of grace poured, but as I began to lose heart, things pulled together. The cold and wild beast became tame, and wielded to my cultured ways.
Will things gel between us, or will the river of tenderness flow out, never to return.
I shall give it time, perhaps a day, maybe two, to see what the future holds.
*short version*
I think I got the rancid olive oil to not seize and not weirdly separate. I may have a mini drop loaf!!! Dude. With rancid oil! 0% sf, oo at 80% and co at 17% and sw at 3%.
Like I said, I may either be an idiot or stubborn, possibly both.
