A merchant had three sons. When it was time for the eldest son to marry, the merchant gave him a golden pot as a wedding gift. “It’s beautiful, Papa,” said the son to the father. “I shall treasure it always.”

Indeed, so bright and alluring was the golden gleam of the vessel that the eldest son spent hours of each day admiring it. “What about me?” his bride complained. Enraptured by the pot of gold, the husband barely heard these words. He stroked the metallic surface with his fingers and his eyes, even as his wife caressed her own skin with her own fingers. It wasn’t long before she left him for a soldier of fortune, but the eldest son barely noticed.

As time went by, the merchant’s fortunes diminished. When it was time for his middle son to marry, he presented the lad with a pot of silver. “It’s beautiful, Papa,” said the middle son. “Look how it gleams! I can see myself in it! Don’t I look handsome! I shall treasure this always.”

Day after day, hour after hour, the middle son admired himself in the polished silver. “What about me?” his bride complained. Her words barely registered, so taken was the middle son by his image. The middle son’s wife danced seductive dances and sang songs both gentle and lewd, but the husband could not be stirred. She left him for a wandering minstrel, but the middle son noticed not.

With the passing of the years, the merchant had little left to give his youngest son upon the wedding day. “I have only this clay pot,” the father said. “Thank you, Papa,” said the son. “It looks sturdy and useful. I shall treasure it always.”

And while delicious soups and hearty stews simmered in the clay pot, the youngest son and his wife made love. Day after day, year after year, they feasted upon each other, and enjoyed wonderful meals together, and after each meal, after carefully cleaning the pot and storing it on the shelf for another day, they enjoyed each other again.