Nipples, lacy panties and hungry eyes flashed across the screen to the sweet sound of fulfilling desires. As the screen heated up beyond 11, I heard someone walking up the stairs. Like a tween girl caught red-handed reading her parent’s copy of The Joy of Sex I paused The L Word, turned off the TV and vacated the couch.
I never got into this show when it originally aired, but have recently been streaming it while (irony alert) preparing fresh produce for canning. I move a table into the family room, place a small garbage can between my feet, and peel hundreds of pears for preserves while watching eight women explore their lives and sexuality through lively discourse and a multitude of sex scenes. This show works well for canning, as it keeps me so engrossed that I forget how boring preparing wholesome foods for my family can be.
The thing is, Not-Kirk runs a theatre company that started rehearsals this week – rehearsals that occur in my basement. Last night, sitting in my living room while Shane’s pre-wedding rap about appropriate practices for successful cunnilingus filled the air, I wondered if I could keep watching. Of course it was during a particularly involved sex scene when I heard the footsteps of my husband’s employee in the distance.
Fears started running through my head, “it looks like I sit in my living room and watch pornography while cooking! Did they hear the cunnilingus song and are coming up to ask me to be quiet? Me, the girl scout leading, Sunday school teaching, overly enthusiastic parent will be known as the porn chef of the neighborhood. Will they ever eat my food again if they think this is what I need to do to prepare it?” I turn it off, duck and cover.
I hide, red-faced and silent, until I hear her turn off the sink in our bathroom, return to the stairwell and retreat to our basement. In hindsight I realized she never even walked through the family room area, and I could have always said “I love The L Word, don’t you?” but that would not have been me. Running, hiding, and imagining a picture of myself, ladle in hand, with the caption “What’s for dinner? Ask the dirty porn chef” is totally more my style.
In other news, I have decided to stop the Wacky Wednesday series. It was the least read and least commented on posts on my blog. I have no idea why I replaced it with a post about canning and indecency, the freedom from standard posting topics must be getting to me!