#271 – A Cock & Bull Story

Little Richard rarely gets an opportunity to say “I told you so” to Rational Richard.  And when the smug retort concerns bulls’ testicles, the occasion turns from rare to unique.  Certainly, last night’s circumstances qualified as one of a kind.

Prior to Valentine’s Day, I’d come across an internet food vendor from England selling an exotic dish for the holiday.  Advertised as an Aphrodisiac entrée, the “Cock & Bull Pie” complemented its ordinary meat pie ingredients with certain special items famed for their romance-enhancing qualities, including bulls’ testicles.  Since the sexcapades in the marital bedroom have grown almost non-existent of late, I thought the Cock & Bull Pies might supply the edge needed to get Sophia back in the mood on Valentine’s night.  I bought four of them.

The voice in my head representing my penis, which I call “Little Richard,” enthusiastically supported the purchase.  No surprise there.  As the expected chief beneficiary of every Aphrodisiac morsel, he’d hardly oppose the idea.

Surprisingly, my logical side, which I refer to as “Rational Richard,” didn’t say boo while I entered my billing information or when I pressed the button to complete the gastronomic purchase.  Rational Richard instead waited until the pies arrived to voice his disapproval: Idiot, what’re the odds that a woman who hasn’t willingly put balls in her mouth since we exchanged “I dos” will agree to eat bulls’ testicles, much less swallow them without puking her guts out?

Naturally, Little Richard dismissed Rational Richard’s concerns, opining: Who says we have to tell her the pie’s ingredients?  What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, and the results in the boudoir will speak for themselves.

As much as I longed to agree with Little Richard, I couldn’t dispute Rational Richard’s logic.  Instead of serving the Cock & Bull Pies for Valentine’s Day, I stuck them in the freezer and merely identified them to my wife as “some gourmet meat pies I bought for a rainy day.”

It must’ve rained last night.  While I ate an early dinner with a client, Sophia invited her parents to our house for supper.  But she ran late at the office and didn’t have time to cook her intended meal.  Limited in options, she saw my gourmet meat pies as a perfect substitute.

I returned from the restaurant in time to witness the three gourmands scarfing down their last pastry-filled bites.  Sophia showed no sign of discomfort, much less imminent vomiting.  As a matter of fact, she told me the “meat pie” tasted delicious.

The dish also had an impact on my in-laws.  No sooner did their forks drop than my father-in-law leaned over and whispered into my mother-in-law’s ear.  Her eyes widened and she audibly questioned: “Really?”  With an answering nod, seventy-five-year-old Vito grabbed seventy-year-old Maria’s hand, thanked Sophia for dinner, and bolted for home … prompting Little Richard’s self-satisfied: I told you so!










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