Dear Editor,

Very few can resist the allure and sheer attraction of ice cream. I often feel sorry for those who cannot partake in such heavenly delights. The flavours, the low cost, and the occasional “Creamie” passing through on a Sunday afternoon, are all contributing factors that nudge us to secure a cone, a cup, a dish, or even the entire box.

However, let us not stare at the ice cream melting. If you’ve ever had ice cream, especially on a cone, one would realise it melts quickly, especially on a hot day. The art of enjoying an ice cream is tricky, since if you eat it too fast you risk getting brain freeze, and if you eat it too slowly then you are basically drinking it.

It’s no surprise, then, that the issue isn’t about what is being eaten, but rather how it is eaten, and who does the eating. That’s where the tongue, a symbol of a plethora of views, is introduced.

But, here, the tongue is a symbol of desire. We should all know that our lips are our most exposed erogenous zone.

Joining in with Carolyn Cooper’s ‘Policeman bows to a higher calling’, this is a time when we should start debunking myths. The act of bowing, occasionally done in ecclesiastical settings, has long since been gendered and seen as something distasteful. We need to address more than the music in the room, since equality and justice for all offended the ignorant — the same ignorant who, not surprisingly, eats out of the pot when alone.

We link pleasure with dominance, and that in itself is misconstrued. There are men — from the upper echelon to your local “waste man” — who enjoy ‘dining’. It is totally repulsive that we still have homo sapiens who subscribe to the notion that only females should dine. It seems that only the ‘rifle’ needs to be cleaned while the ‘pouch’ is simply thrown aside after use. This idea reeks of insecurity.

As a human first, Christian male second, in Jamaica, practising abstinence is a little less taboo than a man who declares his love for eating Julie mangoes or licks ice cream publicly. We, on one end, praise our hypersexual culture, but as soon as we spin the bottle things get chaotic and unnecessarily loud. It is time to put away childish ideologies.

I urge us, as citizens, to zoom out of the bedroom business of others and stick to what is between our own sheets. Ensure yours is consensual and that her groans are not fake.

If you find yourself lusting, as Benjy in an Olive Senior short story The Boy Who Loved Ice Cream, then by all means quench your thirst. If not, “lock yuh mouth!” Pun intended.

To my dearly beloved conservative brothers who may ponder such an act, let the marriage bed be undefiled. For in marriage there’s freedom. Your wife’s/husband’s needs should be met, just as yours. After all, the Bible is our guide.

“Awake, O north wind; and come, thou south; blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits.” (Song of Solomon, 4:16, KJV)

Personally, I am not a fan of rum and raisin; I suggest the double cone of cookie and cream.

Selah.

Kenloy Smith

St Elizabeth