Every Time My Hair Gets Pulled In The Bedroom, I End Up In The Kitchen Making French Cooking

By Delia Loufringo
Columnist

How many times has this happened to you? Things are getting a little hot and heavy in the boudoir, and you tell your current partner it’s okay if they want to get a little rough with you. So they grab a fistful of your hair and the next thing you know? You’ve transitioned into the kitchen and you’re cooking up a delicious pot of beef Bourguignon with them still inside you or vice versa! If you’re anything like me, this is what you live with and quite frankly, it sucks.

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It’s so embarrassing! And it doesn’t even matter what I do to try and mitigate it because it just keeps happening. I stopped buying deli ham and cheese, and yet somehow every time I swipe right on some cutie who likes it a little rowdy, all of a sudden I’m making them a perfect croque monsieur when I ought to be making them a croque “moan”-sieur instead.

Even worse? Doctors can’t tell me what’s wrong with me. My general practitioner says it’s psychosomatic, which is like, so not helpful. I did managed to unpack some of it with my psychiatrist, who suspects that my sexual awakening coinciding with the release of a certain animated feature starring Patton Oswalt as a dominant-yet-nurturing rat might have arrested my development a bit, but I can’t say any more about that since Pixar won’t stop threatening legal action every time I talk about making ratatouille instead of just letting someone rata-do-me. I just can’t help it!

My great-aunt Gladice always said I’d never amount to anything in the kitchen so I suppose I should be thankful. But as excited as I am to wipe the smug smile off the face of that amused douche when I make an amuse-bouche, my love life is really suffering! I mean, who cares about making a perfect duck confit when you started your night thinking about making some fuck cum feats.

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And even when I really hit it off with someone, this little “issue” of mine becomes a huge problem. Nowadays I’m too self-conscious to text the eggplant emoji followed by the red-faced panting guy, my lover shows up expecting a gourmet stuffed aubergine with just the right amount of heat on it. I mean, come on!

Unless I can find a way to fix this little problem, I might have to put my love life on a permanent hiatus. Or find a way to bribe the Department of Public Health to look the other way as I create a very unique Michelin-starred concept. I’m open to either honestly—what can I say? I’m kind of an exhibitionist at heart.

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