– I have a new system to classify my days: the Toast System. A day can eiither be a soggy-toast day (bad), or a hard-toast day (good). I am not yet sure if there will be graduations of the scale. I get the impression that toast exists in a binary state – soggy or hard – but I think that there is room for some research into this topic. Either way, soggy-toast days are normally precipitated by me running into a certain housemate whilst in the kitchen making my breakfast, and wanting to get out of the kitchen as quick as possible, so not leaving time for my toast to cool before I butter it. Now would not be a good time to get into my odd preferences with regards toast hardness, just accept, for now, that I prefer it cool before the spread goes on. (This in itself leads into my Taiwanese flatmate having thought for three months that I just liked to build houses out of my breakfast material a la Drew Barymore in 50 First Dates, but I digress). To tell you all about the infamous soggy-toast day that spawned the system would get me into a whole rant vis-a-vis the Cas Lending Library, bathmats and wine, destructo-girl, and a discussion of my relative pettyness, and this isn’t (unfortunately) the place for it. You never know who is going to stumble across a lonely little website.
Putting all that to one side, today is shaping up to be a soggy-toast day, literately as well as figuratively. (My spelling certainly seems to have taken the day off). There was a man in our kitchen this morning ( :O! ). He’d come to check on our ventilation system (I am anticipating any jokes you could be thinking right now, and none of them are funny) and had timed his arrival to coincide with me being in the kitchen, fresh from the shower (hair all over the place), still in pj’s and fluffy bunny slippers, making my toast. Now those of you who have had the dubious pleasure of cohabiting with me know that I am not on top form first thing in the morning. Like a classic car I need tlc, gentle prodding, and a bucket of tea to get started. Bad analogy I admit, but I’ve only been up an hour or so, and I don’t tend to function fully till about midday. One thing that definately doesn’t work that early is my eyes. Being as blind as the proverbial, I need glasses to resolve anything over a few feet away, but first thing in the morning, glasses are the last thing I want, so I tend to pad around the flat whilst preparing breakfast not being able to see much. This morning, to finally get to the point, I totally failed to spot that there was a mildly attractive man in our kitchen before I walked in. Cue much embarrasment, hasty breakfast preparation, and soggy toast.
And with that all said and done, I am off to try and cure my schema of its identity crisis, and in the process undoutably loose whatever shreds of sanity I have left. Ah well, I’ve given up on ever attracting the Cute Canadian, or the other leading candidate, so perhaps a straight-jacket is a look that will work for me?
Mildly ironically, I have just noticed what the acronym for a soggy-toast-day is. Lol.