I was washing breakfast dishes Sunday morning and I was thinking about the eggs he made. They were a little runny for my taste. I’ve finally figured out that I have to serve Lion’s eggs and continue cooking mine to get them the way I like them. I wondered why he hadn’t done that. I know he thinks I like things overcooked, but he usually tries to make things so they’re just right for me. And then it hit me. He does that for me just like I try to be the keyholder he wants me to be.
It may be over simplified, but at least it’s the start of an understanding. He has no more understanding why I like my steak or hamburger charred than I understand his wanting to be spanked or locked up. He shakes his head when I order something in a restaurant and tell them, “well done, cook it till it’s dead, and when you think it’s inedible, cook it some more.” I still wind up with pink steak sometimes. He cringes when I smash my hamburger as it cooks on the grill. All the juices run out and the flames shoot up. Yum! He can’t understand why I would want to eat a brick. Surely it must be dry and flavorless. Usually it’s not dry. And charred is one of my favorite flavors. Still, when he’s cooking he tries to massacre my food. He usually has it timed out so my food is about halfway done when he puts his on to cook. He apologizes every time he hands me my food. He doesn’t know how in the world I can eat it.
I shake my head at him too when he asks me to do stuff to him. Why would anyone want to go through pain on purpose? Being restrained in any capacity makes me crazy. I don’t even like flying because it means I’ll be trapped in a metal box for hours on end. What is it about being caged that, ironically, seems to free him?
I don’t think I’ll ever understand why he wants what he wants. My job is to give it to him. I don’t think he’ll ever understand why I want my food well done. His job is to give it to me.