"Bad Food vs. Bad Sex" joke
Now here is a situation that only arises in the course of hypothetical debate: which is more appetizing, a lousy meal or lousy sex? Having recently been deep in the midst of both, I would err on the side of the lousy meal.
The lousy meal is the ultimate disappointment for the inner glutton – a long-desired session with Mr. Knife and Ms. Fork becomes an assault on the olfactory passages and/or the taste buds. The frustration becomes universal, since your dining partner and the person who prepared the meal are dragged into the sour mood created by your unhappiness. But, of course, it doesn’t always have to be that way – a healthy variety of sterling lies can be tapped to negate the toxicity of the situation (“I guess I wasn’t that hungry,” “I’m too upset to eat,” “I’m still full from lunch,” etc.). A doggy bag request can help wrap up the problematic meal for burial at a later date and distant location while a digestible alternative is sought out to fill the hunger void.
But those lovely excuses cannot be reconfigured when it comes to excusing oneself from lousy sex. Honestly, what are you going to tell your horizontal playmate: “I guess I wasn’t that horny,” “I’m too upset to fuck,” “I’m still full from lunch,” etc.? And you can’t really push away an unsatisfactory naked lover the same way you push away a poorly cooked plate of meat loaf. Furthermore, one can easily replace an unsatisfactory meal with something more palatable – but works in the kitchen usually doesn’t work in the bedroom.
In the ideal world, every meal is gourmet-worthy and every lover is equally tasty. But when quality is on an extended vacation, I’ll take a lousy meal to go.
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