Cupid

Cupid: (n) the ancient Roman god of love represented as a winged, naked, infant boy with a bow and arrows.

Romance is idiotic.

This doesn’t mean it’s not amazing.

I’m not trying to tell you there isn’t great joy in the percolation of human sexuality.

Romance is idiotic because the justifications we generate to permit ourselves to “swoon in June by the light of the silvery moon” are downright hilariously ignorant.

I laugh whenever I hear two lovers explain that they can’t help themselves.

“The heart wants what the heart wants.”

I’m not so sure the heart has much to do with it.

But the lust wants what the lust wants.

That’s darned tootin’ true.

To further justify the erratic tendencies of romance, we have borrowed this character from mythology—Cupid.

He shoots arrows, you know.

They are arrows of love.

I think that is definitely an oxymoron.

Or it’s simply a misplacement of a vowel or a consonant, which should actually read:

“The eros of love.”

Eros is the Greek word for sexual intercourse.

So a man with a wife and three children will swear before the Supreme Court that Cupid shot him with an arrow, and that is why he ended up screwing his twenty-two-year-old secretary.

He will be very sincere.

He might even cry about the deep affection he has suddenly acquired.

But one of the greatest truths we can impart to ourselves as men is that having an erect penis is not permission to continue. And as women, getting wet may require going somewhere to dry out.

It is not an issue of decency.

It is an attempt to keep us from acting like rabbits living in a hole, constantly searching for a hole.

We may not like the responsibility of tempering our sexuality—becoming more adept at dodging Cupid’s arrows—but we owe it to ourselves to rationally and purposefully exchange seventy years of peace of mind for seven seconds of juicy pleasure.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Blunder

Blunder: (n) a stupid or careless mistake.Dictionary B 

The human race is constantly coming up with more gentle terms to cushion the word “failure.”

If we think we have been outstanding, “victory” or “success” seem to cover it well. But when some error occurs, the degree of severity has to be tenderized by the selection of the appropriate word.

Sometimes we’ll start off by saying, “It was a misunderstanding.”

Or “We misspoke.”

Occasionally we work up the courage to pronounce our last effort “a mistake.”

But it’s very unusual for human beings to be so forthcoming as to admit a blunder.

Other words avoided are “fiasco, a big pile of poop, idiotic”… and of course, the more truthful and cleansing pronouncement:

I fucked up.

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Bearer

Bearer: (n) a person or thing that carries or holds something.Dictionary B

“Here he comes,” said the gathered as they notice me arriving in the distance.

What will they say next?

What whispered comments will be exchanged as I make my way into the room?

What do they really think about me?

What is my value to the clan?

What gifts do I bring to the tribe?

Am I viewed as a bearer of good news or a naysayer?

Am I critical?

Do I balance my comments with positive reinforcement?

What do those who love me appreciate and what do they merely tolerate?

Even though most of us would insist we want to know the truth about our value, some of the discoveries might be depressing, if not completely debilitating. Because with every spoken word comes a tone of voice and a facial expression.

We only remember what we say, not how we said it.

And we certainly are not privy to the output from our countenance.

Are we considered valuable to the cause, or just someone plays devil’s advocate?

What kind of bearer are we?

Is it possible to be too positive?

Is it plausible to insist that everything is going to work out well and come across idiotic because we did not adequately count the cost?

What is the balance?

Whether we like it or not, we are all bearers of something … and in the minds of others, have a caption written beneath our memory.

 

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