Wee buns.

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Last night we noticed a new cake shop that has just opened beside the Indian restaurant of great excellence where we dined in tasty style. We were of course laden to capacity at the time and unable to contemplate adding to the cargo of deliciousness we were already labouring under, so we abstained. This morning however our stomachs told a different story so we dragged them along to take a seat among the goodies and deliberated a good while before ordering what took our fancy. It was a difficult choice to make. Row after row of nicities leered at us lasciviously from glass cabinets like Dutch prostitutes used to leer at passing men from behind shop window fronts in Amsterdam in the 1970s. However we made our choices and were very greatly satisfied with our choosings. But even with excess sugar coursing through our veins our eyes were ever-drawn to the chilled cabinets, where lewd fancies continued to tease us mercilessly with their coquettish come hither looks. As we were about to leave, sated yet craving more, the stately Madame behind the counter glided over and offered us a complimentary box of whatever look our fancy - we had been the first sit-in customers since the shop opened its doors for the first time a few days ago. I bagged myself an enormous portion of gulab jamun cake (a traditional Indian sweet that catapulted me back to Calcutta in 1977 - the proprietors were Indian) and I left with a big goofy smile on my face. What is your confection of choice?