Mmmmm French croissants.
I have a weakness for bread.
Not fucking Wonderbread and shit like that.
Bread made out of actual food.
Like Gramma used to bake.
Did you have a Gram that baked bread?
Those were the best fucking days, oh man.
As soon as we pulled up to the curb I could smell that sweet, sweet deliciousness.
I ran up the porch and Juggernauted that screen door so hard… I had no regard for anything but shoving a wad of raw bread dough in my mouth hole and waiting oh-so-patiently for that beautiful golden loaf to slide gloriously out of the oven.
When it was out Gram would take a soft bristled brush and fucking PAINT that bitch with butter. Real butter, mind you, not that bullshit plastic they tell you is healthier. It’s not.
Creamy ass legit butter melting and dripping down the sides, Gram would slice that loaf like a boss, keep the heel for herself and hand me a thick slab of warm fluffy doughy heaven with perfect crust. Spread some more butter on, and that is a magical way to start the day for sure. Uuuunnnhhhhhh.
Even now, I can go to work on a loaf of amazing fresh baked bread, savagely tearing off chunks and dipping them in butter while moaning.
Especially when I’m pmsing and my uterus is super hungry.
Fuck yeah, bread.
I love you.
