Long before I finally figured out that the man of my life would be a woman, a good friend of mine asked what she thought was a rhetorical question: “What could be better than sex?”
I answered without hesitation: “Marshmallows.” There were at the time, in fact, many, many things I could think of, but my first, spontaneous answer was marshmallows.
Before camping trips, a bag of marshmallows is packed in the foodstuffs basket. After camping trips, I snack on the pale, puffy leftovers, smiling at memories of smoke smells and kindling crackles. During camping trips, my first marshmallow is always allowed to catch fire, a ceremonial torch of tentdom.
When my partner, who’s been basking in her Flickr friendships for years now, first suggested I start a blog, I shook my head. “That’s just vanity press,” I harrumphed, “with the advantage of being free of charge.”
Of course. And the bag of firewood will be damp, and our hatchet will be too dull, and it’ll be raining, and we won’t get one single delicious warm creamy sweet roasted marshmallow, and I’ll hunker down in a cold sleeping bag with a snivel on my face and a mosquito in the tent. Why even try?
Fine. I’ll try it. At least my partner will read my entries. Hmm… you know, this isn’t so bad… might even become addictive, ha ha… Lemme just lean a little closer, warm my hands on this kind comment someone wrote… Ahhh.