a bun in the oven

Tweet

Hush now, don't get excited. The bun in my oven is - quite literally - bread. Stodgy, doughy, delicious bread. It makes my belly bulge with fullness. Bloated. Yes. Bread is my Nemesis, my kryptonite, and my secret desirable lover. He taunts me in the shop with his fresh aroma and his many flavours. An ordinary sliced white loaf? Or a bloomer? Bread made with cheese on top. Bread made with nuts, or olives or sun dried tomatoes. Bread which is perfect for dunking in hot chunky soup. Take me home. Devour me. Give in, my love, he whispers. I love Bread. But I don't think Bread loves me. Last year - for six whole months - I was able to resist the temptation he tried to sully me with and my tummy became flat. Flat!! No bloatedness, no bulging over my jeans, none of this muffin top business. Since Christmas I've lost all willpower. And now I feel constantly bloated and bulgy. It is time to start ignoring Bread. When he waves at me enticingly in the shop I must simply turn around and walk away. When he whispers sweet nothings I must simply stick my fingers in my ears and make childish la-la-la noises. It will be difficult. He will pester me with a plethora of emotions. He will cry, stamp his feet in anger, flirt with others in my presence. I shall not give in. {Until Friday when my MiL will make tasty sandwiches for our riverside - weather permitting - picnic.}