Every nook and cranny of her supple shape
Warms to the electric heat.
Her flexible body stiffens
Basking in the glow and the slow burn
She ejects herself into my waiting hands
I feel her soothing comfort in my sweaty palms.
I bathe her entire being with my creamy spread
I pull her towards my aching mouth.
I eat her. I smile. I crave more.
Dear God…I love toast.
I do love it so. Warm, heavily buttered toast is one of the most beautiful and tasty things on Earth.
Of course, in a little less than a month, with the beginning of Lent, I will be giving up all bread products so it will be one of the things off limits for me until Easter.
And, I was worrying about pizza cravings during my 46 day trek through the wheat-less wilderness.
Pizza pales in comparison to the comfort of warm toast, dripping in cream cheese, peanut butter, or of course…Butter!!
My heart aches just thinking about not having toast for some six weeks, but my soul and belief in the Holy Soon-to-be-Nailed-to-a-Cross Jeebus will be what separates me and my wheat of willpower from the chaff of Satan’s chastising.
So let it be written; so let it be done.
I will eat as much toast as I can between now and February 17th in order to allay my bread detox. Knowing this, Schmoop went to the store in order to get a big tub of butter.
Typically we keep a small one on hand but she went all out and purchased a big tub of butter. Well, we think it’s butter…You see, Schmoop bought this…
That’s right she bought a big tub of, “Spread”.
It might be butter. It might not be. All Schmoop knew was that it was big and the name on the tub made her laugh out loud in the store.
Ha. And she calls me, my co-workers, and many of you a bunch of 12 year olds.
Who’s the twelve year old now, Mizz Thang? Uh-huh.