Here's the thing: almost everything is less boring than oatmeal. Saying that good sex is better than oatmeal is basically damning good sex with faint praise.
Honey cakes are my brother's favorite example, but he has a bit of a sweet tooth. Flowers on a spring day. A good bottle of wine. Fine friends. Flavored ices. Olives. Fresh bread straight from the ovens. Pot pies. Kittens.
There is nothing more luxurious that freshly baked bread. My maid would make me little loafs back in Paris... I do so miss it, now that you mention it to me.
Oh!Yes. I quite agree. Our cook would have to station someone one by the door to the kitchens to make sure my brother and I wouldn't make off with a loaf when she was baking. Eventually she just made us our own little loafs as well so we'd stop stealing.
How nostalgic we are, my dear. Revelling in stories from the past. I should have picked kittens for my subject of choice, surely it would have been safer.
Ah, but it takes a little practice, that is all. I am from a time without their existence - certainly, I must have had to get used to their feel as well.
Why? Ah, but I had to eat an entire portion of it this morning. Meyer has made certain curtailments to my budget, so I can no longer eat my breakfast at the cafes, if I wish to also eat my lunch there... Alas, the tragedy of it. Of a simple portion of oatmeal.
What a wonderful combination! I should never have thought of that on my own. One must hope it makes tomorrow's portion of oatmeal less bland to my tastes.
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Oatmeal is boring. Sex isn't boring. Putting oatmeal and sex in the same sentence together is insulting to sex.
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You must know by now, I should never wish to insult sex. It is my oxygen, my nectar of life, my everything!
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How do you people type on these things? It's excruciating.
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I take it you're human?
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Cinnamon or brown sugar ain't bad though.
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