Firstly, we don’t expect men to understand. Actually, we don’t expect men to get it at all.
So there I was right, minding my own fucking business as usual (yes we’re back to the potty-mouthed *fucking* because it’s been that kinda week) when all of a sudden I get a whiff… no it was more like a stench from the Bakery around the corner. The aroma was like an intruder, a trespasser to my nasal cavity, a burgler to my olfactory receptors, ready to pillage its way to my brain. How. Dare. They?!?
For those who don’t know, I’ve been having some health issues… Endocrinal / Lymphatic and some other shit and have thus been instructed to stay away from the following for the next few weeks:
- Red meat (Lady Gaga’s haute couture has made this quite easy)
- Dairy (*sob*)
- Lentils and Legumes
- Various fruit and veggies like Citrus, Tomatoes, Pineapples etc.
- All kinds of fish and seafood
- All junk food
- All refined or complex carbohydrates like white bread, white flour, sugar, pasta etc. (*sob* *sob*)
Anyways, now I’m usually quite health conscious… have been for a while now… so all this shouldn’t have bothered me right? Wrong. Nothing like someone telling you that you CAN’T have something to get your knickers in three knots… even if you don’t want it.
Back to the fucking Bakery, toying with my emotions like a Raggedy Ann Voodoo Doll.
So there I was, trying my very best to pretend to work when in wafts these subtle variant aromas filled with hints of hot buttery melt-in-the-mouth goodness and chocolate sponges and baked cinnamon… making more promises than Obama to make this world a better place.
And at first I resisted. Then I resisted some more. Then I reached for the earphones and continued the resistance but somehow my feet had the urge to go for a walk and before I knew it, I was in Satan’s Lair. And just like that, all that resistance dissolved in front of the Pièce de résistance… an enchanting glowing glazed cinnamon donut. I shut my eyes and tried to imagine Diego Forlan’s torso winking at me. But sadly, even the Patron Saint of Abs couldn’t work his magic.
I suddenly had the distinct feeling that even if 100 naked Wentworth Miller’s stood before me, all I’d ever see were bread rolls and French loafs. I simply couldn’t help but stare lustfully at all the delights dressed in their immaculate presentations… fit for a King.
Now I know many people (especially men) would say, “why didn’t you just walk out of there?”. And this is the difference between men and women. See, you don’t just WALK OUT of Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory now do you?!?
It didn’t help matters when André, my friend and the manager of the Bakery, came out looking all indignant and self-righteous, chastising in his French accent and waving his French finger in the most earnest of disapproving ways…
André : Non, ma chérie, not for you eh. Until the Doctor says it’s good. You’ve got to have patience eh, some dignity yes...
Me: Bish please. Is it ironic that Panache rhymes with Ganache? I. Want. That. Cake!
André: Non, non. Not today.
And so I was tortured and tormented by my desire… taunted endlessly by an array of little delicacies whispering my name until we reached a compromise. Actually, I threatened to take the Brownies hostage and ended up going home with a loaf of naan bread instead. “Is healthier”, he said. The fresh naan was slaughtered faster than you could say meat dress. I popped it into the toaster for a bit and then slathered on what initially looked like butter, but ended up as golden yellow goo and watched it seeping into the grainy texture of the hot slice… I don’t even like butter and don’t usually eat it but MAN that was DELICIOUS! I don’t know what is it… but I’m guessing it’s the hypnotic Aniseed that always has me going back for more.
I could easily devour this entire loaf by myself. And they say that men are hunters... they could learn from us women because no man can chase down Carbs like a woman, that I can assure you. And most likely, by the time you read this, this entire loaf would have pulled a Copperfield and disappeared and nothing would remain beside fond memories. So if by any chance I drop dead in the next 24 hours, know that I died a very happy woman. The ice-cream is next...
Fuck you PMS.