Blog Dis
Creamy whipped topping and pink tongues...
2026-08-18
I turned my back on my freshly brewed espresso with a healthy dollop of creamy whipped topping and no sooner had I done so when the quick darting, pink and adorably cute tongue of my hooligan love-kitty, Nutmeg, was making fast work of my weekend pleasure, even before I had taken my first sip.
Drinking coffee is my guilty pleasure, a variety of dark bean with a hint of chocolate, brewed in an espresso machine that soothes me whenever my ears pick up that marvelous sound—the slow gush of hot sinful brew spewing out the spout with force and resonance. It builds slowly. It brews. It flows until it becomes a rush of bitter liquid, filling my espresso cup.
Coffee calls to you, I swear. 😘
Shall I ever possess the intestinal discipline to give up my fix during the week and on weekends? Highly unlikely. And, according to many ecologists, coffee will disappear off the planet in 50 years time, as rampant deforestation slowly erodes the lands where evergreen shrubs grow, as well as another plant variety of small trees that belong to the genus coffea. With any luck I'll be dead by then, unless a coffee-loving billionaire or other entrepreneur develops a new line of business, an underground hydroponic sideline to grow coffee in a basement lab. Hint. Hint. This, to my mind, would be an excellent endeavor for a high-energy Billionaire, to spend his or her moulah to ensure that the coffee supply remains constant, rather than to shoot a fast-acting medicinal nasal spray up their nose like it's Kool-Aid.
Nothing is out of the realm of possibility.
For now, I shall refuse to give up my espressos during the week and on weekends. My routine is typical. I eat a wholesome breakfast, then dive into three espressos loaded with creamy whipped topping. I'm pretty much lactose intolerant, whereas organic whipped cream can be purchased made from chilled coconut cream vs the more popular brand, which is coconut palm oil, comprised of at least 80% saturated fat. Whipped topping is one of my sin foods. Like everyone, I work on the basis of percentages, which is to say I'll eat a healthy salad using an olive oil-based dressing with just a teaspoon of mustard seven days a week, and I'll rarely if ever eat fast-foods, unless I'm in an airport. I prepare my own dinners 99% of the time. So the way I've chosen to rationalize it, I'm pretty much on the wagon when it comes to indulging in sin foods. It's important to me to make an exception when it comes to frothy whipped cream as a topping, though and admittedly the organic variety is a better choice, though it costs quite a penny.
But when my kitties were still with me, and whenever I caught my naughty girl, I'd immediately take the lovely licked whipped cream, and dump it in the sink, then thank my kitty for reminding me that we are all slaves to our pleasures. Don't we all love our sinful pleasures, after all? Sin is a selective process, despite being well-defined in religious scriptures, tho' you should know up-front this was only done to control you with guilt.
I don't deny smokers their right to puff on cancer-sticks, any more than I'd deny anyone a drinky-poo or two or a spliff or several. I only observe the practice of moderation where I'm concerned. If I find rude or loud behavior in a polluted individual is out of control, from the over-consumption of alcohol, or whatever, I remove myself. Why? Because it's not my job to be anyone's liquor control board or their drug-addiction counselor. This is either their role or that of someone who is professionally trained. However, when it comes to my personal indulgence of inhaling espressos, I permit myself a tiny dollop of whipped cream, using an espresso spoon. It's not like I'm behaving as though a drunken sailor has been let off the destroyer ship to plunder the nearest brothel.
Kitties, in particular, have a special gift for finding comfort. I could readily add into this pleasure as well of whipped cream for them, to steal the occasional taste of food that they shouldn't. Whereas, humans like to believe we've cornered the market on pleasure. Not so! Kitties live the life of comfort and pleasure, providing of course they have good owners. 😘
It's worthy to remind yourself more often than not that if you're going to feel guilty you might as well enjoy the pleasure, right?
Pets don't feel guilt, not a smidge. Pets may from time to time acknowledge wrong-doing, which is why our canine friends are equipped with puppy dog eyes, to fool you, and we know that kitties surely don't feel one trace of guilt. Ever watch a kitty paw at something on a ledge? You can issue an order of 'No', to discourage them from knocking off the item from the ledge, and your kitty will stare back at you, fully cognizant of what your command is asking of them, and then they'll do it anyway. HaHaHa! Gotta love the kitty.
I maintain that humans are haunted by our ability to reflect. Whereas a kitty will not. Sure. A kitty doesn't have to be shown where to find the best spot in the house, to catch that sun-beam for an awesome nap; one of forty for them each day and they'll return to this same spot, knowing instinctively the time of day when the sun is brightest and hottest. But the kitty will not reflect as to why this particular spot is the best, nor do they care why. It's enough for them to know. Whereas with humans, we reflect even when we're not trying to do so. We're compelled to examine every decision and outcome, and this includes second-guessing our own pleasures, our sin foods as they are called.
We all play the game, to interpret life, to examine events that transpire every day, throughout the week, and in the conversations we may choose to engage with friends and strangers, and in the activities of the non-human entities with whom we share our planet. Tell me I'm wrong but I believe you'll be inclined to agree that pleasure is the act of asserting one's will, to reach and acquire the things we want, to ensure the things we have will continue to give us more pleasure, and to satisfy our needs. For without pleasure, the pains of life would drag us down to the kind of depths where only the sacred are willing to take you, just to prove a point that you're a failed human who needs to be uplifted by pledging allegiance to an authoritarian religious leader. This doesn't describe me one bit.
Religion and philosophy are no different than the variety of socks and undies available for purchase in the world. You can try on different pairs, select, own and discard, at your leisure.
It has taken me many years to come to the conclusion that I'm a woman of simple pleasures. I remember when my fair city had celebrated it's 140th birthday. Clearly, given the amount of hollering and garbage that remained in the downtown core after the party had ended, others too were happy to embody a wide range of differing views on pleasures. For some it was drinking one's face off and then to smash car windows (there were two in front of my building that suffered severe damages) and for others, like me, it was more of a simple pleasure, just to be able to connect with friends for a light lunch and some beer on the patio at one of my favorite pubs, The Royal Oak on Laurier Street.
You see? I could orient my mind and desires to seek out new and interesting pleasures, some of which carry very high price tags or I could resolve to be grateful for the simple pleasures of life.
There are many simple pleasures.
Here's a list, by no means complete, and open to interpretation, because you too have your own ideas on what defines a pleasure. My simple pleasures include cycling along the canal, and elsewhere, to get a fabulous massage, to eat a home cooked meal with friends, to read a stimulating article or book, to watch an excellent movie in an air conditioned theatre when the temperature outside is hovering around 40 Celsius, and the most enjoyable pleasure of them all, to have a willing partner focus his attention on certain body parts that are susceptible to erotic touch. These are the kinds of pleasures we truly never grow tired of, providing your participant has an active imagination.
Without pleasures, simple or complex, what would we be? The absence of pleasures in your life would imply that pain is the driving force in your purpose. My heart goes out to persons who live and deal with restrictive mobility, to spend their lives confined. Their notions on pleasure must surely take on new meaning, and would be different than mine or yours.
I do not deny myself pleasures entirely but I do believe in exercising restraint, where possible. After all, if this life was exclusively about giving into every pleasure, we'd evolve into Caligula-like beings who exist only as hedonists, corrupt and lacking in compassion. Where's the pleasure it that?
Drinking coffee is my guilty pleasure, a variety of dark bean with a hint of chocolate, brewed in an espresso machine that soothes me whenever my ears pick up that marvelous sound—the slow gush of hot sinful brew spewing out the spout with force and resonance. It builds slowly. It brews. It flows until it becomes a rush of bitter liquid, filling my espresso cup.
Coffee calls to you, I swear. 😘
Shall I ever possess the intestinal discipline to give up my fix during the week and on weekends? Highly unlikely. And, according to many ecologists, coffee will disappear off the planet in 50 years time, as rampant deforestation slowly erodes the lands where evergreen shrubs grow, as well as another plant variety of small trees that belong to the genus coffea. With any luck I'll be dead by then, unless a coffee-loving billionaire or other entrepreneur develops a new line of business, an underground hydroponic sideline to grow coffee in a basement lab. Hint. Hint. This, to my mind, would be an excellent endeavor for a high-energy Billionaire, to spend his or her moulah to ensure that the coffee supply remains constant, rather than to shoot a fast-acting medicinal nasal spray up their nose like it's Kool-Aid.
Nothing is out of the realm of possibility.
For now, I shall refuse to give up my espressos during the week and on weekends. My routine is typical. I eat a wholesome breakfast, then dive into three espressos loaded with creamy whipped topping. I'm pretty much lactose intolerant, whereas organic whipped cream can be purchased made from chilled coconut cream vs the more popular brand, which is coconut palm oil, comprised of at least 80% saturated fat. Whipped topping is one of my sin foods. Like everyone, I work on the basis of percentages, which is to say I'll eat a healthy salad using an olive oil-based dressing with just a teaspoon of mustard seven days a week, and I'll rarely if ever eat fast-foods, unless I'm in an airport. I prepare my own dinners 99% of the time. So the way I've chosen to rationalize it, I'm pretty much on the wagon when it comes to indulging in sin foods. It's important to me to make an exception when it comes to frothy whipped cream as a topping, though and admittedly the organic variety is a better choice, though it costs quite a penny.
But when my kitties were still with me, and whenever I caught my naughty girl, I'd immediately take the lovely licked whipped cream, and dump it in the sink, then thank my kitty for reminding me that we are all slaves to our pleasures. Don't we all love our sinful pleasures, after all? Sin is a selective process, despite being well-defined in religious scriptures, tho' you should know up-front this was only done to control you with guilt.
I don't deny smokers their right to puff on cancer-sticks, any more than I'd deny anyone a drinky-poo or two or a spliff or several. I only observe the practice of moderation where I'm concerned. If I find rude or loud behavior in a polluted individual is out of control, from the over-consumption of alcohol, or whatever, I remove myself. Why? Because it's not my job to be anyone's liquor control board or their drug-addiction counselor. This is either their role or that of someone who is professionally trained. However, when it comes to my personal indulgence of inhaling espressos, I permit myself a tiny dollop of whipped cream, using an espresso spoon. It's not like I'm behaving as though a drunken sailor has been let off the destroyer ship to plunder the nearest brothel.
Kitties, in particular, have a special gift for finding comfort. I could readily add into this pleasure as well of whipped cream for them, to steal the occasional taste of food that they shouldn't. Whereas, humans like to believe we've cornered the market on pleasure. Not so! Kitties live the life of comfort and pleasure, providing of course they have good owners. 😘
It's worthy to remind yourself more often than not that if you're going to feel guilty you might as well enjoy the pleasure, right?
Pets don't feel guilt, not a smidge. Pets may from time to time acknowledge wrong-doing, which is why our canine friends are equipped with puppy dog eyes, to fool you, and we know that kitties surely don't feel one trace of guilt. Ever watch a kitty paw at something on a ledge? You can issue an order of 'No', to discourage them from knocking off the item from the ledge, and your kitty will stare back at you, fully cognizant of what your command is asking of them, and then they'll do it anyway. HaHaHa! Gotta love the kitty.
I maintain that humans are haunted by our ability to reflect. Whereas a kitty will not. Sure. A kitty doesn't have to be shown where to find the best spot in the house, to catch that sun-beam for an awesome nap; one of forty for them each day and they'll return to this same spot, knowing instinctively the time of day when the sun is brightest and hottest. But the kitty will not reflect as to why this particular spot is the best, nor do they care why. It's enough for them to know. Whereas with humans, we reflect even when we're not trying to do so. We're compelled to examine every decision and outcome, and this includes second-guessing our own pleasures, our sin foods as they are called.
We all play the game, to interpret life, to examine events that transpire every day, throughout the week, and in the conversations we may choose to engage with friends and strangers, and in the activities of the non-human entities with whom we share our planet. Tell me I'm wrong but I believe you'll be inclined to agree that pleasure is the act of asserting one's will, to reach and acquire the things we want, to ensure the things we have will continue to give us more pleasure, and to satisfy our needs. For without pleasure, the pains of life would drag us down to the kind of depths where only the sacred are willing to take you, just to prove a point that you're a failed human who needs to be uplifted by pledging allegiance to an authoritarian religious leader. This doesn't describe me one bit.
Religion and philosophy are no different than the variety of socks and undies available for purchase in the world. You can try on different pairs, select, own and discard, at your leisure.
It has taken me many years to come to the conclusion that I'm a woman of simple pleasures. I remember when my fair city had celebrated it's 140th birthday. Clearly, given the amount of hollering and garbage that remained in the downtown core after the party had ended, others too were happy to embody a wide range of differing views on pleasures. For some it was drinking one's face off and then to smash car windows (there were two in front of my building that suffered severe damages) and for others, like me, it was more of a simple pleasure, just to be able to connect with friends for a light lunch and some beer on the patio at one of my favorite pubs, The Royal Oak on Laurier Street.
You see? I could orient my mind and desires to seek out new and interesting pleasures, some of which carry very high price tags or I could resolve to be grateful for the simple pleasures of life.
There are many simple pleasures.
Here's a list, by no means complete, and open to interpretation, because you too have your own ideas on what defines a pleasure. My simple pleasures include cycling along the canal, and elsewhere, to get a fabulous massage, to eat a home cooked meal with friends, to read a stimulating article or book, to watch an excellent movie in an air conditioned theatre when the temperature outside is hovering around 40 Celsius, and the most enjoyable pleasure of them all, to have a willing partner focus his attention on certain body parts that are susceptible to erotic touch. These are the kinds of pleasures we truly never grow tired of, providing your participant has an active imagination.
Without pleasures, simple or complex, what would we be? The absence of pleasures in your life would imply that pain is the driving force in your purpose. My heart goes out to persons who live and deal with restrictive mobility, to spend their lives confined. Their notions on pleasure must surely take on new meaning, and would be different than mine or yours.
I do not deny myself pleasures entirely but I do believe in exercising restraint, where possible. After all, if this life was exclusively about giving into every pleasure, we'd evolve into Caligula-like beings who exist only as hedonists, corrupt and lacking in compassion. Where's the pleasure it that?
