tz-place:“Love is like bread, it needs to be made fresh everyday.” Baking for Mary
tz-place:“Love is like bread, it needs to be made fresh everyday.” Baking for Mary was cathartic. She had found as far back as she could remember there was nothing more therapeutic than the act of bread making. There was a rhythm to kneading and folding the dough carefully over and over again. The gooey feel of the dough squishing through her fingers as she squeezed and firmly pressed it down, well, there was something actually soothing about that feeling. And after all her loving attention, she would cover the bowl and leave it to rise on its own in the warmth of the sun’s rays shining through the kitchen window. Later, soaking in the aroma of freshly baked bread drifting through the air filling every corner of the house with warmth and sunshine. There was nothing like it.Her husband, on the other hand, could never understand what the attraction was to this particular hobby. He would shake his head watching her punch down the loaf one more time, no doubt muttering to himself, “what the hell” remembering the lovely Christmas present sitting in the box in the cupboard he had given her a few years back, a high tech electric bread maker complete with all the gadgets required to get the job done…..no fuss, no muss. He just didn’t understand, he didn’t see the underlying reasons for her dedication to bread making. She had tried to explain. This was a way for her to express her love language, creating a family home, just as his gift was his way of expressing his love language to her, showering her with expensive gifts, trying to make her life easier. She got that about him, she appreciated that about him…..he was just a little slower comprehending what she was trying to explain to him. Most important of all, Mary read him like a book, knew him cover to cover, and understood he was a passionate, tactile man……that was his base love language…his primal need…..his kryptonite.After watching him in his chair across the room roll his eyes one last time in exasperation, Mary slid the loaf of dough into the oven and set the timer. She decided, with a sly grin, now was the time for a better line of communication to get her point across.Wiping her hands she grabs a towel and the bottle of vegetable oil sitting on the countertop, crosses the room and knells between his legs where he sat.Lowering his iPhone he gave her a quizzical look. “Shhhhh”, her eyes gleaming with mischief, “I want to demonstrate something for you ok sweetie?” Unzipping his shorts she reaches in and pulls his limpness out. Placing her palm under him, she pours from the vegetable oil bottle down his length coating him liberally before closing her hand around him and firmly squeezing him. He rises to her touch and she smiles. One stroke, two strokes and he has risen to his full length, two strong hands full.“See honey”, she says with a broad smile, “this is why I enjoy baking bread. It reminds me of you.”“I knead you”, she smiles as she continues her loving attention, up and down, kneading and pulling, grasping and squeezing him faster and faster, harder and harder. Afterward, his head lolling to the side of his chair, his heart starting to return to normal, she rises from knelling, kisses him sweetly and walks back to the kitchen. Softly, he hears her whisper with a grin in her voice…..”I loaf you baby.” -- source link
#tz-place