Sumophilia

A New Phenomenon: The winter of 2007 shall go down in the Sumo’s history as a time of boundless indulgence of the female kind. Allow me to elaborate, and in all that will follow, keep in mind that the Sumo is a bachelor.

In the time leading to the winter of 2007, as the season was beginning to change, the Sumo started to experience changes in his social activities as well. The warnings from the weather watchers were that 2007 was to have a particularly cold winter, unbeknownst to the Sumo; this would be the catalyst for one of the most awesome winter seasons the Sumo has ever enjoyed.

The colder winter was a bit out of the ordinary, but what was even more out the ordinary was the deluge of between-the-sheets activities that the Sumo was about to experience, much to his delight, of course.

It seemed that the time was right; the Zodiac had aligned itself perfectly to aid the Sumo in his quest for pleasures flavoured of the feminine taste: wild and spicy. The lard-laden gods, lazing about on Mount Olympus and doing generally godly things like, well, nothing, had looked favourably upon the Sumo and thrown their favour his way.

Mother Nature was going to play a huge part in this phenomenon, and the Sumo, having fattened up during summer, in preparation for the winter, was well poised to receive the gifts of the feminine bounty as presented before him by the elements of nature.

Sumophilia is a phenomenon whereby the entire female sundry — I use the word “entire” very loosely here — is unashamedly attracted to those of Sumoric proportions and all things Sumo. Larger than life becomes exactly that: large and in charge and irresistible. If you don’t have the Sumo, you want it because if you don’t have it, you desperately need to get it to be with it.

The constellations were aligned, my friend, and heavily so in aid of those who are of lard dispossession; helping them get the type of treatment and attention that they yearn for and that they surely deserve.

The rather cooler-than-normal winter brought out a new fancy in women in the Sumo’s circle of consort. They started looking at the Sumo differently. I started noticing this during the month of April on the uncharacteristically cold nights that announced the pending cooler season.

All of a sudden the Sumo became the centre of attention for the ladies in any social and even professional gathering. The often dismissive and even disgusted looks that the Sumo normally received whenever he broached the subject of inviting a certain young lady of choice to supper at his place of residence and subsequently having breakfast in bed the next morning with the said lady were replaced by excitement and delight followed by light flirtation.

What was this: I only had to ask and it would be done!? As you can imagine, these were shocking developments for the normally shunned Sumo; however, they were developments that delighted the Sumo nonetheless.

So the Sumo spent his winter nights cuddling with a long line of aesthetically pleasing young lasses. All of them seemed never to get enough of the Sumo, pleading with him for them to return to the Sumo’s humble abode again and again for him to spend yet another fruitful evening of pleasure with them.

All these evenings, of course, were accompanied by soft soul music, good wine, a selection of cold meats, cheeses, crackers and preserves, and all the lady had to bring to please the Sumo was a bucket of deep-fried chicken or a bunch of those tiny kiddies’ burgers; an assortment of chicken and beef burgers was always preferred.

But thinking back, I realise that this phenomenon takes place pretty much every year, much like the annual flood in parts of otherwise desert Africa. This undertaking is brief but very volatile in its nature. There is good reason why I have used the analogy of one of the great natural phenomena in Africa such as a flood that brings life to an otherwise perpetually barren landscape.

You see, in those parts of the continent the weather is at best unfriendly throughout most of the year, unwelcoming, dry and windy; not a drop falls to moisten the earth for months. You can call it a perpetual dry season, an all-encompassing spell of dryness and near starvation (this is a metaphor for the Sumo’s existence during the summer months).

Yet life continues in this environment. If not on natural lush resources that normally support life, it soldiers on, in the knowledge and hope of the great wet season flood, which will surely come. Much like Sumophilia … (the winter months for the Sumo).

Sumophilia is experienced during the months of May to August by those of Sumoric proportions. See, for the rest of the year, all those who physically resemble the Sumo (The Big Sexy) experience a sort of drought that may be compared to that of the African desert. Nothing comes the way of all of us as far as action of an in-between-the-sheets nature is concerned.

Because of the summer season, we cannot get any err … action, and I don’t blame those coy women for staying far away from us. During summer we generate heat of mammoth proportions when engaging in any cardiovascular activity, resulting in an uncomfortable session for those women wishing to “get some” from us. They cannot handle this and therefore steer clear. It is nature, as unfortunate as it is; the alpha male is the only one who mates.

But nature has a plan for us too. As it always does, the season turns and the wind chills and winter is on its way. You can smell the excitement in the air inside burger joints everywhere; the mood is filled with eager anticipation of the coming flood, so to speak. It is the season of lushness and plenty, a feast similar to that experienced by crocodiles at the crossing point on the river bank during the great wildebeest trek in the wet season.

During Sumophilia the coy women who never gave the Sumo a second glance in summer all change their tune; naturally, they can’t explain it even to themselves, but their attraction swings 180 degrees in favour of the lard dispossessed. They need some heat-generating fatness between the sheets and by all their aesthetic and flirtatious might they shall have it.

All of a sudden, the Sumo is a D-list celebrity; he cannot go anywhere without being looked upon by women as if he were a piping bowl of hot soup during the coldest nights of winter. The Sumo feels literally like a piece of deep-fried chicken at the Meat Eaters’ Association annual conference. Wherever the Sumo goes he is confronted with winks and blown kisses and he cannot keep up with the deluge of female fans. This pleases and concerns the Sumo all at once, but mostly fuels his already robust ego.

In all of this, what the Sumo wishes for his admirers to know is that just like in the Great Lakes, the flood will come once, and it will be brief, and thereafter they will have to wait until next season for the next Great Flood …

But like most things in nature, there comes an end to Sumophilia too. Inevitably the season turns and the air warms up; the winds turn direction. The nights become progressively shorter and the days longer and longer. The roll-on starts lasting less time and more cologne is needed for the same effect as in winter. Two baths a day are no longer a luxury — rather a necessity to be missed at your peril. Things change; the time of the winter bunny is gone, replaced by the age of the summer bunny. Sad.

During this time of drought, which we are just easing into as I type this, the Sumo shall wait, patiently; mentally preparing himself for the next season of plenty, and promises that the next time the flood will not be as brief, although it shall remain ever so volatile.

I rest, till the next season
The Sumo