Kitchen Senses

As I walk through the door the aroma knocks me off my feet, over whelming my senses. For a few brief seconds I am not in control, it has taken over me, an infusion of vanilla and butter and causing my mouth to water. The warm, sweet breeze escaping the oven is like a long lost friend, unknown yet so familiar. Resting innocently on the bench are the golden, perfect delights – blissfully unaware of their power. With a burst of heavenly air, the crunchy outer shell breaks open to reveal the soft, light centre. My tongue knows all too well the flavour, patiently waiting to savour it’s craving. I am hijacked by the sensation, my body no longer controlled by my own mind, reaching for a bite of happiness. Tearing paper, every rip bringing me one step closer – my jaw preparing to follow the motions it has committed to memory. ‘ARF’ the bark of a small dog brings me out of my trance and paints my face with pained expression. I know I can’t indulge in the oh-so tempting consumption of the fresh morsels. After I take my last longing glance, the tray of cupcakes lies untouched. Watching from across the room was the pair of grinning meerkats now satisfied with their victory. Barely recovering from the recent trauma I am teased by the words I try so hard not to hear, “Let’s make the icing now.”



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