There it sat on the plate. Steaming and taunting me with it's warm crunchy yet chewy goodness, with melted butter flowing gracefully over the side. "Eat me" it whispered in a seductive tone that only I could hear. "NO!" I answered, "you aren't good for me...I broke up with you last week, it's over!" "But you love me, and I love you. How can you leave me like this?" was the whiny, drool inducing answer. It went on like this for five minutes. I argued with it. I berated myself for not realizing it would show up here. But it wore me down. "OH FINE!" I huffed, as I bit into it. It was toasty, and delightful, and heavenly. Toast. White sourdough toast. Oh. My. Gawd. It has never tasted so good. I didn't even used to like white bread. Endorphins relished in the pleasure, and coursed through my veins.
Five hours later. It's so over. Again. My stomach has not hurt this bad since I can't remember. All from one lousy piece of bread that came with a fruit salad. Who the F puts bread with fruit salad? Oh, yeah. My favorite coffee shop in town. That's who.
Will someone remind me of this next time I wonder whether cutting out gluten is REALLY that necessary?
1 comment:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MCVPZETzZxU
...skip the first 50 seconds or so.
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