Someone mentioned bread-pudding today. So of course, as the stereo-typical frustrated single male, I automatically thought of breasts. There is a great range of similarity between a fine bread-pudding, and a lovely breast.
Custard.
Not, please understand, the texture or mouthfeel. It's the appearance, and certainly the visual essence.
Mental imagery and tactile things.
I haven't had bread-pudding in so long I cannot even remember what it smells like.
Unlike many males, I am not a bread-pudding man.
Well, not overly so.
To my mind, the ideal serving of bread-pudding is small and diplomatic.
That way, one can have another helping, without feeling bloated or over-indulgent.
You will no doubt grasp that the restaurant chain 'Hooters', which presents both enormous breasts and spicy chicken wings, consequently holds no attraction for me whatsoever.
Chicken wings - feh, I say.
That will not lure me in.
Bread-pudding, on the other hand......
Do they have excellent bread-pudding?
It just might tempt me.
Did I mention that it has been a while?
If some sweet young thing were to offer me bread-pudding, I would lavish her with flowers.
And whipped cream.
Bread-pudding NEEDS whipped cream.
This post should NOT be construed as an obscene proposition.
I would really love some bread-pudding, that's all there is to it.
Don't read anything into this.
Repeat: not obscene!
At all.
Well, except for the whipped cream, that is.
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1 comment:
Can I offer instead, puri as big as your face, and the suggestion that you get out a bit more, even if you aren't feeling particularly social?
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