Groak.

To stare at someone adoringly is romantic and sweet; to stare at something desirous with full intention of taking possession of the item is called groaking.

The original definition for groaking is to stare at people dining in expectations of being invited. Doing an undergraduate program as a theatre major, most of us learned groaking first hand. I had no idea on how my inner-dog could come to the surface. Most of us have an inner-child that we relentlessly try to capture thru therapy, acting majors live there and develop and inner-dog which escapes thru our behavior and morals. We eat with our eyes and groaking is our RSVP.

Sista Sal once opened a christmas present of a fleecy, lamb's wool textured, lightweight, black jacket that wasn't even in her hands for a second before yours truly, standing right behind her, absconded the coat. It's still in my possession seven years later, by the by. I'd like to think that this was a form of groaking, but I can't be sure. I'd to just rule it out as petty larceny because I'd rather be charged with something real, and Tom is the only Petty I know. I saw the coat and began eating with my eyes, felt the soft texture on my body and knew that the weight of the coat was magical. It completely lived up to my expectations and seeing the drool pouring from my fetid mouth holiday joy in my eyes, Sista Sal resigned herself to losing said coat without so much as a "how do you do". I'm not sure if that's the right expression, but I liked using it. The coat makes for good year round wearing, a pillow, a nice towel, an untested parachute, a conversation piece and a tablecloth. It was barely off my body in 2000. The coat was the predecessor for the purple corduroy coat I took from the GM at the restaurant. Again, the eyes went wide in a frenzy of groak, and in an act of charity the coat was presented to it's true owner, me. I groak, therefore I'm warm.

My groaking isn't even intentional. It's so primal that I can't stifle it. I'm very tactile and LOVE texture. When something of interest appeals to my eyes, my fingers can't be far behind (really that's my excuse in many a social situation). I find I can only groak with clothing, I don't want to groak where foods concerned. I used to be so self-conscious of this when dining out with J. I'd eat more rapidly than he and then begging scouring the table for my more food. When my eyes would make their way to his plate, I'd inevitably look up to make eye contact with him. He'd offer me some of his food, but I would feel unclean. I made an effort to limit this groaking of food when my inner-dog would jump out of his kennel to run around the restaurant. Sit. Heel. Good boy.