Everything in the Mouth


I eat tables. They’re very tasty. We have a white yoga strap here that is 100 percent organic cotton. It has an excellent nubby mouth feel. I have toys with tabs and rings and textures that are positively scrumptious.

Eventually I am going to have to get over putting everything in my mouth. You can’t just suck on someone’s hand when you first meet them as I do now. Going into a Starbucks and stuffing all the packaged sandwiches in my kisser will probably get me ejected. I sense that the future professors who will teach me things in college won’t like it when I turn to the person next to me in class and jaw down on their arm.

Eventually, I am sure, one gets over this behavior. But, I ask, why? I would argue that I have a much closer, if not wetter, relationship with my surroundings than you do.

As I see it, you adults live dry, disconnected lives. You will never know the taste of a good book. You will never know the rough feel of the carpet on your tongue, unless you have been drinking excessively. You will never know what a cat tastes like or a tambourine. In some sense, I pity you. You see, I practice on these slightly strange things because it enhances my sense of the things that really matter to me, like the taste of home-cooked sweet potatoes, or squash, or momma’s milk fresh from the mommy. Don’t tell my parents, but I am quite the gourmand. I carefully evaluate every taste that crosses my tongue. I feel broccoli with my entire being, and I find it wanting. I have seen the future and it is made of guacamole.

But I am getting ahead of myself, perhaps out of enthusiasm, perhaps because I know these wild days will wane. It’s cute now when I have green peas all over my face, my hands, my father’s shirt, and the floor, but get back to me in six months. By then I will probably be expected to wield a spoon like a pro with good aim, and this sensual game of eating a meal with my entire body will be over. How quickly youth can slip away! For now I say, bring me your clean spit up cloths, your terrycloth, and your socks. Bring me your designer toys with their smooth curvy surfaces, your stuffed animals, and yes, your tambourines. Especially your tambourines.


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