The subject came up...Are we really what we eat?
So, I thought, "Hot Dog, here's something I can really sink my teeth in." Bean the culinary queen that I am, I'd rice to the occasion of pudding in my two cents worth. Surely I can find some example of how food may affect our lives. After all hominy chances does a person get to use their noodle and dew something like this? I relish the chance to ketchup on my writing, milk it for all it's worth and hopefully bring home the bacon.
How do I begin, do I sugar coat the issues, butter it up, or just get pasta it and do as I peas? Ice cream when I consider my options but I'm not going to roll over and play bread that's for sure. It'll be a souper job, a gravy assignment for a sage gal like me to toss some ideas over thyme and if nothing else just fudge it.
Then I thought "Well this is a fine kettle of fish!" I'm not convinced that victuals had a darn thing to do with my life. About the only thing certain is that when I seafood I eat it. I corn nut sit here and peach a sermon about this without stewing over it and mushrooming the poultry little article.
I thought about my life as a little egg before I began to sprout a pear of arms and a couple of drumsticks. When I was born they said I leek just like my Dad even though I had a pastry complexion. Life was berry good then when I was mommy's little lamb, every once in a while I'd spaetzle up on her shoulder when I missed my bibb.
As a little grill I was raisin cane all the time, a real rowdy one. I had a pheasant life though, with my little sister. They said we were like two peas in a pod. We were always romaine around getting in pickles and getting whipped occasionally. But people still told my folks, "Orange you lucky?"
As a teen I ran a fowl of the law once, trespassing on the neighbor's property. I'd jump endive into their pool without a bit of dressing. It was chili, but it was fun. I couldn't deny it, they slaw everything. I figured then I'd cooked my goose but I beet that rap. I was frosted at the world anyhow, my face was peppered with zitis. I was in the sauce so much they threatened to send me to canape for a week, but they knew I'd duck out.
As a young lady I got involved in a cheesy little affair, steaking my claim on someone else's man. I saw him and just said, "I gotta have a pizza this". It wasn't a big dill since he could only see me on sundaes. His wife squashed it early on. I guess I was just a tart, but I custard just the same.
I never was much good with menu know.
Then I met a real meat guy and he never gave me much to beef about and we had some nice dates, he was always cordial, so we decided to get marinated. He said "You stir me..olive you forever!" We were bananas for each other.
My boyfriend said we canteloupe, but we did. I yam certain that the minister said "Lettuce pray" after I said "I ply thee my broth", but I was so happy I fried and my eyes were glazed over. It was truly an eggciting day, omeletting you know.
The honeymoon was nice, we sat on a poach and he kept pecan at me, then he began to grape me and I got plum flustered. I was suddenly chicken. Then he started reuben on my thigh and I decided to just wing it. Next thing you know we were having breakfast in bed.
Nope, I dairy say, If we are what we eat, then I'm either fast, cheap, or easy!