The cup of coffee in my hands is warm and comforting. The taste is like velvet to the tongue, a smooth flavor that moves effortlessly. It warms me from the inside.
The Kids lie about in lazy unmoving masses representing all that a life of leisure must encompass, absent cares or concerns, resting comfortably on me and around me with trust and love incarnate.
Something atmospheric plays on the satellite radio, a comforting melody that holds me close in its embrace of musical peaks and valleys. I close my eyes with brief intention and let it flow over me like a river. Although I can not possibly admit to such a thing, I perhaps gesture with composer-like movements as I let the sounds encompass me with loving gesticulations.
What a perfect environment in which to enjoy a satisfying dinner. Knowing my tastes at the moment, I already had thrown together a plate of goodies the likes of which Rick and I often enjoy together, the kind of snack-cum-meal that both comforts and satisfies.
It is a plate of meats, fruits, cheeses, and breads. There need not be a complicated recipe for such gratification. The simplest of ingredients inveigle satiation of many desires.
A block of natural Brie introduces the yummies. Soft and creamy and white, it has a comforting flavor enjoyable by the most discriminating of tastes. This is augmented with slices of sharp yellow cheddar beckoning from the side of the plate. They rest comfortably next to a small cache of Lebanese bologna, the freshness of which casts its scent deliciously into the air. Several cubes of Pesto Jack cheese, a creamy white peppered with black, sit quietly in a pile offering a bit of spice to the mix. They lend their color well to a large healthy dose of fresh green and red grapes threatening to roll themselves into a fit across the horde of other foodstuffs. A Gala apple, green and ripe and crisp, is cored and cut into comfortable wedges, the whole of which creates a centerpiece in the middle of the plate. On one edge rests a single piece of a Florida orange neatly presented with the rind still conveniently intact and its juices glistening. Deli-sliced fresh turkey breast relaxes next to it in a pile fit for a sub sandwich. It is so thinly sliced, however, that the pile appears far more massive than it actually is. A stack of salted sesame water crackers adds its own taste to the menagerie of enticements. Finally, a large chunk of crusty French baguette casts flakes and crumbs around itself in what only can be described as a self-involved display of attention getting.
It is, so far as I am concerned, a meal fit for a king. Healthy to a fault while offering fatty and starchy goodness to offset any distaste, it lacks only a few nuts to be a horrifically stuck-up presentation of haughty vulgarity. Am I suddenly above my station? Does anyone else enjoy meals like this?
In any case, and completely regardless of the normalcy of such an indulgence, I take my leave of you now as I sit to enjoy this diverse and apparently uncommon dinner. I shall try my best to refrain from excessive moaning indicative of disgusting self-indulgence and satisfaction.