Bean Talking

On occasion, it is desirable to reward yourself with chocolate.

Not obligatory.

If it were obligatory, I’d refuse.

If it were obligatory, I’d find reasons not to eat it.

If it were obligatory, I’d eat celery instead – at a pinch.

After having just scoffed a slab of daughter’s chocolate birthday cake followed by a peppermint Fry’s Cream – because who can drink tea without something? – I’m left mulling over this idiosyncracy.

Try to force me to do something, not a chance in hell.

I’d put the chocolate in the bin first.

Fortunately, no one is forcing me to eat chocolate.

And, bizarrely, because no one is forcing me to eat it, and because I don’t feel obliged to deny myself it either, I don’t feel compelled to scoff it all the time.

I feel, tonight, chocolate, in all its dark splendiferousness, has revealed some wondrous truths about business, politics and the state of the world in general. Not to mention my personal outlook on any notion of diet fads.

Or is that just the cocoa speaking?

 

Her Sweet Allure

She strolls in, chasing good intentions far and wide,

Crooks her little finger, moues a kiss,

Winks suggestion that she might be kidding,

Creates a space no other fits inside.

 

 

Allure is seeping from her very nail tips,

Those around will pander when she pouts,

Feline eyes of green, lithsome swagger,

She commands her right, her courtiers dip.

 

 

Sashays forward, inch by inch, and wiggles,

Knows full well effect she has on all,

Swooning voyeurs salivate, she works it

Round resisters saunters, stifling giggles.

 

 

For me, complexion is a milky brown tone,

Preferably with black in train, the two,

Combination perfect, my Temptation,

Irresistible, don’t know about you.

 

OK, This One Is For Chocolate

Eyes gaze lovingly

At purple clad delight,

Tongue moistens lips in readiness,

Teeth long to take a bite.

 

Fingers fumble with the foil

Of loveliness portrayed,

Then, desperately, rip cover off,

No more to be waylaid.

 

Unclothed in all its splendour,

Just asking to be taken,

Velvet touch and sinful taste,

Now all senses shall awaken.

 

The look of such, the smell, the taste!

Wrinkled foil discard,

Endorphins surging through my core,

Melting softness from the hard.

 

With pot of tea, this illicit lust

Is wanton-filled with pleasure.

It is not sex, it’s chocolate

But who cares? They’re both a treasure.

Searching, Searching….

I am seriously looking for a diet that incorporates vast quantities of chocolate.

I imagine I will find it if I google, ‘A Woman’s Best Friend’ or ‘Diets Women Die For’.

Somewhere, out there, in this wonderful, wide world some chemist or researcher of some sort has come up with a chocolate diet that, if followed, leaves women svelte-like and minus a chocolate moustache.

I imagine that if it’s a man his misogynistic and sadistic tendencies are causing him to withhold the secret until we have suffered enough.

I imagine that if it’s a woman she’s a bitch of the first order and is cackling away, in a lab lined with Lindt, while sporting a pair of hot pants and a halter top worn braless.

I imagine that if I ever get my hands on either of them I will throttle the life from their skinny bodies until every ounce of chocolate they have consumed is lying in a puddle at their feet.

I imagine I’m not the only one who’s searching for this diet.

http://valleygirlgonecountry.wordpress.com/2013/07/03/baby-got-back/

Inspiration comes in many guises.