I have few regrets in life, but buying a Costco-sized bucket of pickles is one of them.
Can you ever have too many pickles?
I ate a whopping three dill pickles in the last week, and the rest of the bucket is sitting at the back of my refrigerator, waiting to be gobbled up. I am not ready to admit defeat. And I don’t know what I was thinking when I purchased almost two pints of pickles; I craved something sour, stiff, tart, and crunchy. But if you’re wondering — I’m not pregnant because the pregame party hasn’t happened in a long time.
*clears cobwebs*
Speaking of sex, I miss my ex-husband’s body, one part in particular; it was a beautiful piece of magnificent flesh. And I often felt like a sexy Goldilocks whenever I laid on it (not too small, not too big, just right). I miss the raw, youthful intimacy I had with my ex-husband. I had a lot of “firsts” with him.
Today, I realized three things:
- I haven’t had sex in three years, and that’s a long time!
- I had a lot of new experiences with my ex, but they won’t be my last.
- I must release expired energy to make room for brand spanking new explorations.
Three years; that’s an eternity for someone whose love language is physical touch. I attribute most of those celibate years to living with my parents, but digging deeper, I wasn’t ready to let someone close to me again, even if I did have a place of my own.
This brings me to my next point: My ex and I were together for almost two decades; we did (almost) everything under the sun, twice. The first few years, we lived through a lot of lovin’. I was a waitress at an upscale Italian restaurant then and remembered walking into work like a bow-legged cowgirl who rode her horse for waaay too long that morning (and the night before, for that matter).
I had a crazy love for my then-boyfriend.
I’ll admit, I was quite a tease and flirted with the idea of accepting tantalizing propositions from other men (i.e., my own restaurant, but that’s a story for another day). But at the end of my work day, I only wanted to be back in my boyfriend’s arms with him inside me..
When I thought the sex couldn’t get any better, I opened my mind (and legs) to the wild and wonderful world of MDMA (Ecstasy/Molly). Back in the early 2000s, we called it ‘dropping e.’ When I met my ex-husband, he was twenty-one and at the tail end of his “raver phase,” but he managed to hang onto his blacklight, beads, and baggy JNCO jeans just in case. I recall resisting the idea of experimenting with hard drugs. Until then, the worst I ever ingested was beer and the most inferior weed on the market. However, the love bug bite was potent, and I trusted him enough to try rollin’ on E.
“It’s going to be a fine night tonight. It’s going to be a fine day tomorrow” — Miss Jane, It’s A Fine Day (remix)
I believe the word euphoric was first discovered when two souls had sex under the influence of MDMA; it’s one of those life experiences you must feel with your body because it can’t be expressed in words.
Honestly, I don’t regret one naked moment with my ex or a single ecstasy pill I popped.
And I will never put that crap in my body again (pills, not men).
This brings me to my third and final point: I’m gearing up for a new bucket of pickles which sounds pretty promiscuous. However, after spending considerable time gobbling one pickle — I’m willing to embrace the variety pack next time.
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Previously Published on Medium
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