Crispy Parmesan

"I wish you were a piece of crispy Parmesan."

Laughing, I roll over slightly in bed to face My Special Man Friend ("MSMF") who is still biting at my shoulder and neck meat waiting for a response.

Me: "Crispy Parmesan huh. Why?"

MSMF: "So that I could take tiny nibbles out of you each day."

Me: "Hmm. Parmesan though? Not Sharp Cheddar or Spicy Jack?"

MSMF: "No. Parmesan."

Me: "How many nibbles a day are we talking?"

MSMF: "Maybe three. Four nibbles."

Me: "But honey, if I were a Parmesan crisp, I would disappear in a matter of weeks."

MSMF: "Well I wouldn't want that."

Me: "Still wish I were a piece of crispy Parmesan?"

MSMF: *said in a disappointed tone* "No."

I get asked about being all kinds of things.  Yesterday morning MSMF asked if I would want to be a piece of french toast. While tasty, I would absolutely NOT want to be a piece of french toast. I can't stand having my fingers coated or sticky. Even after putting lotion on I immediately have to wash the front of my hands off.

But can you imagine being completely slathered in butter and thick, sticky syrup?

Fuck no.

I'll be crispy Parmesan over french toast any day.