Microwave Romance

when microwaving food is hot, aka romantic, aka a want, aka a need

There was one day some weekends ago that I was shored up in the death grip of the couch in my kitchen, mustering the courage to reheat some of the food from work in the microwave after a long evening’s work.

Even though I am more than used to the late nights after working in restauranting for a number of years, I still find it such a drag to feed myself upon my return home even though my stomach is usually roaring for food (don’t worry, I almost always, with very few exceptions, feed myself, I just can’t make any promises as to how quickly the meal will be hot, on the table, ready to be ingested after I have returned home). Most often, I get caught in the comforting clutches of the aforementioned couch or my desk chair, immediately gripped by a lack of motivation to rise anytime soon to get food when I’ve been on my feet for the past several hours.

Alas, there I sat, wishing for the first time in a long time that I had some uber-special significant other that would pretty please heat up some food in the microwave for me (cue pleading eyes a la puss in boots). While the gesture is a small one (though I am, unfortunately, sure that there are plenty of people who would absolutely loathe to do such a task rip) and I know that I am more than capable of heating up my own food (since I literally do it everyday), I couldn’t help but fantasize about it all the same. I couldn’t help but fantasize how nice it would be to have my food brought to me for once as opposed to having to forage it out of the fridge for myself (woe is me, ik, but also I promise I’m not this lazy; I am merely expressing a thought and so please do not come for me and no, I am not now looking for a partner just so they can sometimes heat up food for me).

And then I felt awkwardly guilty (selfish?) for having this thought because, of course, this desire is completely self-serving. But then I thought: even if I was in a relationship, I would be happy to reciprocate the gesture if/when the occasion called for it. I can now (guilt-free!) return to my microwave fantasy.

And then I found it quite amusing that of all the things I could fantasize about when it comes to the romantic (sparkle emoji), I dreamt up the mundane, rather than the fantastical. To be honest, I’m still not sure if this represents a point of growth or a different sort of grave level of disenchantment with the idea of romance, but I choose to welcome it all the same. And, who knows, maybe I’m being closed-minded in relating too flippantly to the mundane. Can’t the mundane be fantastic, too?

I wonder, what isn’t romantic about preparing some food (even if just in the microwave) for someone you love when they are exhausted and in need of sustenance? What isn’t romantic about care? Most often, images of [insert grand gesture here] populate our portrait of romance. But what of the intimacy and romance of assessing someone’s needs and tending to them at the moment of that explicit need? What of meeting a need, or even a want, before what is desired is even made conscious?

I mean, I’m single (and very much deep in the rhythms of singledom), so I don’t really know, but it sounds pretty romantic to me. In the meantime, I can at least fantasize about dancing in kitchens and sitting in silence as my next meal spins round and round in the microwave.

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