|Beware. This is the most dangerous piece of kitchen equipment known to man.|
I've written a poem about it.
I fear I am addicted to a substance -
may need a doctor for some quick advice.
This substance is so tempting, I can't help it.
One portion of it just will not suffice.
The minute I indulge I sense euphoria.
I want to tell the world, to raise my voice,
and yell, 'I so love cheese and onion toasties.
I admit it. Toasties are my drug of choice.'
The instant I think, 'Cheese and onion toastie!'
My mind begins to tease and play some tricks.
Whatever I am doing, I must drop it
and get into that kitchen for a fix.
I'm grating cheese so fast, I grate my fingers
but nothing stops me once I'm in the zone.
I'm chopping onion like there's no tomorrow
ignoring email, Twitter, Facebook, phone.
I'm lathering the butter on the slices
as though I'm trying to suffocate the bread.
My heart is going boom-boom-boom, excited,
anticipating toastie bliss ahead.
I'm chanting, 'Toastie! Toastie! You're my saviour.
One bite, one bite, and all my woes are gone.'
Then, just as I near faint with joy, I realise
I haven't turned the toastie maker on.