Can I Have an Epiphany with that Apple Fritter?

Sex addiction has been in the news so much lately that one can’t ignore it. As the long-time primary caregiver for three products of sexual activity, I’ve had a hard time understanding how anyone could be addicted to sex. Shopping for outrageously expensive shoes – that’s something I could get addicted to. Food addiction, especially to those lovely apple fritters at Starbuck’s, I understand. Alcohol addiction even makes sense to me when my teenager shows me the rash on her abdomen that is an allergic reaction to her fourth attempt at a navel piercing. And don’t get me wrong: I like sex, well, a lot.

But sex addiction?

The definition of sex addiction, according to the experts, is a preoccupation with sex that causes problems in a person’s life.

Take, for instance, the three men arrested this week in Gwinnett County, Georgia, for soliciting sex in a K-Mart bathroom.

The blue-light special they got wasn’t quite the one they’d been hoping for. I may not be an expert on sex addiction, but because the only thing that could lure me into a K-Mart bathroom would involve some serious intestinal parasites, I’m thinking that sex is definitely causing some problems for those old boys.

And then there’s the Forest Park, Georgia, teenager who spent a night in jail last week for sending a picture of his wanker to his girlfriend from his cell phone. Apparently, his was special, not at all like the millions of other ones out there, because she forwarded it to a few friends and teachers. That got the attention of the county solicitor, a woman who must not have a sense of humor, because even though he sent it as a "joke," he ended up in jail and on the evening news.

I don’t think this kid is a sex addict, though. It sounds to me like he may have learned his lesson after only one night in jail. Here’s what he said about his ordeal: “Once you hear that [jail] door close, and you’re laying on that bed thinking about it, you like, ‘Wow. I know I did something wrong, and then your conscience kick in, saying, ‘You know you did wrong.’”

He concluded by saying, “I think lots of people have epiphanies when they in jail.”

They also have STDs and a taste for teenage boys. If all he came out of jail with is an epiphany, he’s a lucky kid.

Personally, I’m going to stick with my fritter fetish and hope my conscience always kicks in and my epiphanies come before I hear a jail door close.

Steamy Seductions

Okay, I give up. Winter’s won.

I’m not throwing in the towel because it’s the fourth time this winter that I’ve seen significant snow in Georgia. And for all you northerners, the Atlanta definition of “significant snow” is a simultaneous snowflake sighting and a mob at the Publix akin to Black Friday at WalMart.

Neither is my dachshund’s refusal to go outside the reason for my surrender to the season.

The way I know that winter has won? I actually consumed a hot beverage this morning. I risked scalding my tongue to get my insides warm.

It’s like this: I don’t drink coffee. I never developed a taste for it. And why would I sip hot tea when I can gulp Chick-Fil-A unsweetened iced tea? It’s kind of like the old adage that “wine is fine but liquor is quicker.” I drink tea to quench my thirst, and cold goes down faster than hot.

In fact, I’ve estimated that in my lifetime I have consumed enough unsweetened iced tea to float a mid-size cruise ship. My kids have already been instructed that upon my death I wish to be cremated and sprinkled in the drive-thru of Chick-Fil-A.

But here’s the irony: my house has a built-in Miele coffee system, an expensive machine that has a steam nozzle and other features appealing to coffee enthusiasts. I can program it to speak to me in German, Dutch, Portuguese, Spanish, English, Italian, or French. It has a counter that will display the number of cups of coffee or espresso that have been dispensed since it was purchased. It even has a security system that I can set to keep people unfamiliar with the unit from using it.

Even crazier is the fact that I, the one who does not drink coffee, am the one who ordered the machine. And it’s been used exactly six times in seven years. I don’t know how to set the language or the security system, and I haven’t ever gotten the German warning that means it’s time to descale the unit after 100 coffees.

My thinking in purchasing the Miele coffee system was that it could be used to circumvent my then-husband’s serious Starbuck’s addiction. Why not put in our own mocha machine? I thought. That, combined with the fabulous office he had over the garage, the beautiful pool, the home theater, and the fully-equipped home gym, meant he never needed to leave the house.

My plan didn’t work so well. As it turns out, it didn’t matter what was in this home. He liked to get his mochas elsewhere.

A month or so ago, he began texting me in an effort to have me meet with him so that he could present some options for paying the money he owes me. To my mind, there’s only one acceptable option, and that is for him to pay me the money he owes me. But I guess he needed to try. The conversation went something like this:

HIM: Coffee tonight 630 pm

ME: Excuse me?

HIM: Coffee starbucks

ME: I don’t drink coffee.

HIM: I forgot . . . organic water with a twist of lime

(Okay, you did forget. It’s unsweetened tea. And there’s no such thing as organic water)

HIM again: I bring the lime btw

(At this point, I’m grossed out and stop answering his texts, which strangely continue throughout the course of the day)

HIM: ??Yes?

HIM: Ok I will see u then

HIM: Seriously just biz . . . .

HIM: Seriously if u can’t that’s fine just let me know


Needless to say, I didn’t show up at Starbucks that day. And while winter may have won today, it will be a Kalte Tag in der Holle before I ever succumb to his steamy seductions.

That’s German for “cold day in hell.”