Tale of toast.

I never saw the point of toast. Adding texture to already decent bread just never got me. Also the texture of butter really wasn't too pleasing. It's so 'slippery', you can almost call it 'slimy'. I'd had my bread plain or with a sandwich, sans the butter.
I gradually adapted to the taste of butter. I feel like along with my brain, my taste buds grew up. I'm fine with almost anything. Butter was fine and so was toast, but still, what's the point when I can have it in it's original chewy texture.
About a year ago, I fell ill. I don't fall ill too often but when I do, I curl in the corner and update my will. I prefer not seeing anyone and get annoyed with myself. It's a horrid state to be in and you'd be in a horrid state to be with someone like me then. I lived on toast and tea for a week. That's long for me. Also, even in deathly states, I threw in some chips. It's my drug of choice.
I felt better with every crunch of the toasted bread and though I remember not tasting it, that slippery slimy butter was the best thing that happened to sliced bread.
And now, I'm officially an addict. I love the stuff. Everytime I see bread, I can't help but think 'Perhaps some toast then?'. It doesn't help that it goes well with tea.
Why am I writing this long yarn about my love for buttered toast? Because I want to eat one right now and I thought this would be a great distraction as the water boils for tea.
Well, that was officially a failed distraction.