Gag Me With a Raw Oyster

To hear Darling and Sir read their letters please click on the greetings.

 My Delectable Darling

Food played a massive part in your time here. One of your first and most memorable culinary adventures was your experience with oysters. Really in this case it should be singular and not plural, so from henceforth I shall refer to it as oyster. On your second day we rode a Sydney Harbour ferry to Watsons Bay. This is a fairly exclusive suburb populated by the well to do. It is also home to an iconic Sydney seafood restaurant named Doyles. It was here we dined, and where you had your first experience with the dreaded oyster.

I know I goaded you into eating one. I always order mine natural and just have some cracked pepper and fresh lemon with them. Normally when someone first tries oysters I suggest they have them cooked (not raw) either Kilpatrick or mornay is often the safest bet. I feel a little guilty knowing I ordered them natural for you. You no doubt had your dander up and I was responding in kind. The look of disgust on your face was priceless. Your desire to show no fear was a delight. Your attempt to eat one was simply magic. Your failure to do so was my personal triumph (does that read like an advertisement for MasterCard?) What I think I enjoyed the most though was your description. After your brave attempt to swallow ONE oyster, it still brings tears of laughter to my eyes. Your words: “It was like a reverse loogie!”

Deliciously Yours

From Sir With Love

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  My Dear Sly Sir,

I can actually hear your laughter ringing in my ears as I read your words. You, Sir, are evil incarnate. I had told you that I liked oyster soup, so I guess you assumed that I would like the raw, slimy version. There is a huge difference between the cooked versus the raw kind. I still think you had an ulterior motive, my love.

I distinctly recall you telling me to just try one, and if I didn’t like it you’d happily consume the rest. I think I just realized your ulterior motive. I remember looking at the platter in dismay and at the gelatinous globs of slime thinking, “You want me to swallow that?!” Then I glanced at your face, and I knew you would not best me. Even though your face was sincere and solemn, the twinkle in your eye was a dead give-a-way.

You demonstrated the correct way to slurp that sucker down. You lifted the shell to your lips and gobbled it in one swift movement. You made it look easy enough. I reached for a shell and you picked up your second one. I believe you said cheers, and we clinked the shells together. I followed suit and attempted to have my first raw oyster.

Words can never express the horror of that moment. I shudder to this very day remembering the feeling and texture of that lump of snot that got wedged in my throat. I started gagging and choking. I couldn’t get it up or down. In between your fits of laughter, you thumped me on the back in an effort to help me extricate that vile piece of mucous. I finally dislodged it from my mouth and spat it on the ground in disgust. A stray dog hurried over and lapped it up, adding to my revulsion. As you correctly stated, I announced to you that it felt like a reverse loogie!

You kindly offered to order me some other delicacy, but my appetite had vanished completely. I was suspicious at this point, knowing you’d order me something else just as nasty. In an attempt to quell your mirth and to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, I remember telling you that I wouldn’t kiss a mouth that ate raw oysters. You just smiled and knew I was bluffing, because you leaned over and laid one on me right then and there.

Your kiss was nearly enough to make me forget this incident – nearly. You’re such a devil.

Innocently yours,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir

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Arms Wide Open

My Sweet Sir,

Recently we’ve shared memories and old pictures from our past. You sent one to me that I had forgotten and lost; not surprisingly, it has strongly affected me when I saw it again. It was one of the first photos you emailed me of you (if not the actual first one). You are above Watson’s Bay on a place you dubbed “The Rock.” You are bold and confident with a yellow sweater wrapped around your shoulders looking so debonair. Your arms are spread wide, and the beautiful Sydney skyline is behind you.

I love this picture for what it represented to me in my mind at the time. There you were a tall, dark-haired man whose smile pierced through the screen into my soul. Good grief you were so young and sure. Your open arms seemed to beckon me forward as if welcoming me into your life in a symbolic invitation that I so desperately wanted to accept right then and there, but neither one of us was looking for anything of that nature. Our feelings were just beginning to emerge and our relationship was growing and maturing. We were content to take it slow and enjoy the process of unraveling the mysteries of who we both were.

I could finally connect that rich, deep voice to a face, and it was a perfect match. I remember thinking that if those arms were to wrap around me, I’d never want to leave the safety of their circle. To be hugged and held in those long arms was a fantasy and dream. I escaped to that dream often. I found comfort in it and in you.

We’ve shared many significant hugs that I know will be talked about at some point. I dream of your hug now. I can’t even fathom being held in your arms again.

Yearningly,

Darling

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My Darling

How truly wonderful that you remember that photo so fondly, I remember when it was taken and the photographer. At the time I had no idea it would become part of your life.  I have a definite memory of emailing it to you however, I had to choose it carefully. I had hit an age and my vanity and ego were a little fragile as somewhat evidenced by my choice. A little paunch had developed and maybe some love handles. The sweater, or jumper as we would call it here, nicely disguised the later of the issues and the front on pose to the camera disguised the other.

The jumper itself holds a special place in my heart. As you are already aware it was hand knitted by my dear old mother. It is one of those things that I treasure. My mother who only left this world a little over eighteen months ago, just 3 days shy of her 90th birthday, would be pleased to know her handiwork still has an admirer. It means a lot to me that you speak of it so warmly. Having said all that I must admit to feeling it to be faintly preposterous that we imbue an inanimate object with such affection. However when you search across the void that is the world wide web you clutch on to every subtlety, every nuance to ensure you garner the very last drop of meaning out of every exchange and intimacy shared.  On a more light hearted note you will be pleased to know that it still fits, even if there is less room to move within the garment itself. 

You are right however when you say that when I sent you that picture it was not an overtly intentional invitation to come join me. We were certainly growing closer, but there were many things that could prevent us from being together, the most obvious being the Pacific Ocean and the 12,600 kilometres that stood, and still stands, so firmly between us. I’d love to think that I was sending you some subliminal message even then. It’s nice to think that you saw it so. You say we were content to take it slow and let the mysteries unravel. I certainly agree with that on an emotional level. But the rational side of us fought that feeling, not hard or particularly well, but there was a fight nonetheless. The fact that we gave in and let our emotions run rampant is a testimony to how strong our bond became.

You say it was your fantasy to be held in those arms. Well it was my fantasy to hold you. You and I both know that we fulfilled both of our fantasies on that particular front. Yes we will talk of that time as this story unfolds. But I must say it saddens me a little to hear you say you cannot fathom being held in my arms again. That is however my cross to bear. As we grow closer through this process, far closer than we have been for many many years. I am inextricably drawn to you; I can’t help but hold on to some utterly unachievable goal that one day we may share that simple pleasure again.

 

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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My Dear Sir,

Unfathomable isn’t impossible, it’s just hard to imagine after so much time has passed. I want to insert our favorite Downton Abbey quote here, but it has an ironic, cruel twist to it in this context.