Butter My Bread?
This admission might result in some blogemmies and outright break-up's. I hope it doesn't, but I am ready to live with the consequences of sharing my dirty little secret. Ok. Ready? Set. Go.
One of my guilty pleasures is that every single morning, I take a fresh, homemade slice of sourdough bread and pop it into the toaster. I watch as my sumptuous soft bread turns to a golden crispy beige and then I immediately take it out of the toaster, so it burns my fingers just a teeeeeeeeeeny tinnnnnnny bit. I carefully butter the center and each corner, listening to the crunch and watching the hot bread soak up chilled pats of butter and then.... well. I watch my buttered toast for 30 minutes. Not like consecutively or anything, that's creepy. I watch it intermittently. And then I throw it away.
I'm on a fucking diet. I feel terribly guilty about it, just not enough to like, you know, stop. Not yet anyway. Cut me some slack. I don't just loooooooove this particular sourdough bread and butter, I am wild for it. It's other worldly. I could commit to monogamy with this bread. YEAH. I know.
Comments
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Immense admiration!
Put a piece of buttered fresh sourdough toast in front of me and it will go down the hatch.
Remarkable restraint on your part.
That's kind of like a married man going to a strip joint and not touching the dancers, is it?
I am in awe of your self discipline!
I'm with Dale. Next time, deny yourself, but give the toast to me.
Mmmmm. Toast.
But if it works for you, and you're losing weight and keeping your sense of humor, who am I to quarrel?
And I was thrown out into the gutter. Where my mind has stayed ever since.