I’ve realized that the way to my heart isn’t though my stomach…my heart is my stomach.
This epiphany dawned on me today after an early morning compelled me to opt out of breakfast to be on time for a meeting. But before running out the door, I had the smarts to throw some cookies in my purse. Arriving at the office I pulled out my notebook, planner, pens…the usual daily reporter essentials, and the pouch of cookies found themselves perched on top.
I wanted to undo the rubber band and allow the wonderful goodness of flour and sugar and chocolate chips to crumble in my mouth, but I was called away and the next hour of my life was spent smiling, making professional talk, and momentarily holding my breath (while sucking in my belly) to silence the snarls and complaints of a hungry tummy.
Post cordial goodbyes, I sat down to type upcoming plans that stemmed from the meeting but while doing do, the clear plastic that revealed the baked delicacies held within whimpered at me and if it had eyes, I know they’d have been large, molten brown, and puppy-like.
Unable to resist its beckons, I gave in and as I pulled out one heart shaped cookie after the other I felt immense gratitude towards my boyfriend for having purchased them for me one day prior. Breaking the crisp hearts and delivering bite size segments of chocolate chip yumminess to my belly via my mouth, I felt surges of what I can only describe as, love.
I have no idea why the saying (“the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach”) makes it seem like only men are swayed to greater emotions through food. Chips of chocolate love, you’ve won my heart.