Objects, love-gifts, charming giveaways , whatever you name it.
I'm a fan of them, I craft them, I enjoy making them, although I don't buy them.
Some people (the well-educated, I presume) questioned why I needed to make them.
Useless, over-the-top, theatrical, they said.
One fellow even went to the point of analogising them as masturbation.
Yes, jerking-off, playing with yourself, rocking the snake, all just because the act was assumed for self-gratification.
Now my friends, this woeful misinterpretation, I think, is because some folks think that the climax happens when I'm spraying stories around with that gleam in the eye to the canteen crowd, when I'm engaging in some kiss and tell (inherited from my old lady) with my comrades, the so-called Kom, where gossip spreads at the speed of light (of which I know, Kom peeps are secretly proud of this notion. Sorry to say, my highschool still one ups you by a country mile).
Well, that would be a very, very daft conclusion, a dishonorable mention to who I intended all of my 'Grand Gestures' for. That's why some have a degree in Sexology, like Boyke, while some play the Love Guru, like Mike Myers. They just can't spot the difference between actual orgasm and that spring in your step the following morning post-sex.
Pardon the analogy, by the way. I've never had intercourse, of course, but I couldn't find a more appropriate counter-analogy to the one about masturbation, which irks me constantly. But my point is, the pleasure... --Okay, I'll defect from the sexual thesaurus, so it won't erode my point--...
That warm, fuzzy feeling, I'd never experienced before I woke up on the other side of the bed some 30 days ago, sometimes occur when you truly know that the one you gave a Grand Gesture likes it, feels that it's special, and likes you even more for doing it.
The effort doesn't count up for anything.
Whether the effort has any meaning for that special someone, however,
counts up for everything.
-R
PS: Do you know where I left my sweetener?
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