Debauchery

It's the word that comes to mind when I look through the window into the backyard, to see those bodgies of the bird world, currawongs, gang banging my fig tree. Greediest bird I know, wanton, marauding, hunting in packs. The fig tree loves it. After all, this is fullfilment. She stands gracefully, clad in luxuriant big leaves, dangling her pink, fleshy fruit, to be consumed, seed dispersed, she dissipated. All for good reason. Survival of the species.
I've always liked the word debauchery. It conjures strong images. Indulgence, lewdness, lust, excess, revelry, orgy. Things we'd like to engage in, but we know better, that we need restraint. Like me last week. There I was in the expensive recliner, two doe eyed, perfumed young ladies, Lisa and Janet, poised over me, one exploring, the other sucking. Exquisite, I thought, this is worth $200. Then Janet said, "Would you like to be numbed?"
"No, no, I'm fine", I moaned, and she continued drilling. My debauchery, imagined, got me through the half hour rebuilding of my tooth. But no matter what one might be thinking, it's restraint that sets us apart as humans. Without it we have no morality and culture, we would be living like the thousands of dogs on the streets of Santiago, and life would possess little beauty or peace.
The word debauchery has its origins in the Old French language, 'desbaucher', to corrupt.