You be the Big Spoon

I detest being the big spoon.

But then again, that’s what I have to deal with since I have been graced with nearly six-and-a-half feet of pure man tissue, which by midget standards could be classified in the same realm as the creature at the top of Jack’s Beanstalk. I am gargantuan. This is my curse.

For the record, I would like to relay that yesterday’s post had double the amount of views that I average on a daily basis. Along with its sheer brilliance and fundamental literary beauty, I think the actual reason was the fact that my tempting title, “The C-Word” lured you away from normalcy in hopes of reading an envelope-pushing post.

Keep on reading away you Facebook-stalking perverts.

For full effect, go to Youtube and type in the words “Oklahoma State, Mike Gundy, rant” and watch his outburst on Stillwater reporters. Here, I’ll even post the link for you suckers. Fast forward to the 2:24 mark, “I’m a man”, and read this post in the same attacking volume that the Cowboys coach bombasts his surrounding cast with. That’s how upset I get sometimes when I have to be the big spoon.

If you remember from yesterday’s post you should recall the frustrations and agony that men are forced to deal with when describing their potential first base escapades with another woman. Wait, should I say first base? It’s more like warming up in the batters box if we’re going to use athletic metaphors. Having to say the C-word to another bro is like a gauntlet of gut-wrenching emotions rolled up into a six-letter curse word. Barney Stinson would not approve of that lingo it’s so delicate to deal with.

But while we’re talking about this painful statement, let’s get down to the nitty-gritty of the art itself, and perhaps I can relay to you how tortuous it is from a man’s point of view. Again, going back to my initial statement, the life as the big spoon.

You see, when C-wording occurs between two parties, more than likely there is an action that happens once both sides nestle in for the long haul, and perhaps might be settling in for an evening of comfort with another person wrapped around them. That’s right kids, I’m talking about spooning. (For the record, spooning and the C-word are not always synonymous, due to the fact that in some instances one party may not enjoy C-wording, whereas in spooning, 99.83 percent of the time both parties are enjoying romantic serenity.)

The art of spooning is something that is relaxing and enjoyable on many levels. However, it can get frustrating in certain situations if the partner that you’re burrowed with is a foot shorter than you are. In that case, well buckle up partner because you are always going to be the big spoon.

Being the big spoon puts so much responsibility on a person. You’re the one in charge of the blanket’s position. Your arms are the ones that need to be fastened around them. Their comfort level is contingent on the amount of movement that you make, plus how cozy your bicep is as their pillow. Never mind if your arm falls asleep and you can’t see the movie that you’re watching because of the pioneer woman hairstyle she picked out that night, you are the big one, you are the protector, you are the big spoon, so just sit back and take it like a man.

Us big guys are always the big spoon. We never enjoy the fruits and carefree nature of the ones on the inside. I think in the 13 years that I have been a full-fledged member of the Spooners Association of America I have only been the little spoon a handful of times. And those times might I add were by pure accident or for a five-minute session of laughable pity that they felt. Us manly men never enjoy the benefits of the little spoon. It’s not right I tell you not right, not constitutional, and not politically correct if you ask me.

Some of you ladies and/or very small men may be sitting back reading this thinking to yourself, “You ungrateful buffoon, I would gladly be the big spoon. This isn’t a big deal at all.”

But it is.

Just you wait, the next time that you go to C-word with someone and it potentially leads to a late night spooning session, go ahead, try and wrap your arms around them in a protective yet dainty manner that is pleasing to both parties. And after five minutes when their every movement wakes you up, you accidentally start chewing on their hair, or when everything from your right shoulder down falls asleep, that’s when you’ll say, “He’s right! The big spoon is pure Hell!

Again, being a big man this is just a curse that I have been burdened with and will continue to endure for the rest of my life, along with the predicament of fitting into Dodge Neons and never finding a pair of pants long enough at Old Navy. In the act of C-wording someone always has to sacrifice. Someone always has to compromise their horizontal hugging standards. Myself, and every other man taller than six feet, we will always be the ones that sacrifice for your comfort.

We will always be the big spoon.