Monday, February 14, 2011
I read an ancient recipe book, that told me how to bake, a buttery little rascal that often took the cake.
Hidden away by the slender Queen of Dorset, she feared that they would balloon princesses out of their corsets.
A butter package, it really should be called, for I was instructed to add enough till I was appalled!
Hastily gulping away my buttery shock, I tucked the golden mass in, like I would a baby little thing.
As the baby slept, I decided not to rest on my tuffet, but instead put an end to
Death by Chocolate.
You see, many a lass could not resist its brown charm, and landed themselves in a giddy alarm.
So I drew my weapon and avenged them all, tasting sweet revenge at every knife fall.
Then I folded, wrapped and rolled as the recipe book told, and couldn't help thinking they were like durian seeds to behold.
Shaken not, though I hate that pungent fruit, I focused on the visible layers that augured good!
Fingers crossed, they entered the oven, and came out a little while later nice and golden.
Happy was I, as I ate the buttery mass, glad that I could indulge because I'm no princess!
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