Sid Church

French Toast

You just had a great night… from what you can remember. You wake up with your head feeling like it wants to cave into itself, and fine naked woman lying next to you. You have no idea how she got there, but she’s naked, and at least a seven, and in your bed. You don’t want to mess this up. It’s time to make some French Toast.


  • 4-7 slices of bread
  • 2 eggs
  • A splash of milk
  • Nutmeg
  • Cinnamon
  • Vanilla

Before you do anything, that draft beer from last night probably hasn’t had the lines cleaned in over a year and is looking for an escape route. You usually would try to contain it until she leaves, but this is not an option right now. Take your iPhone with you to the toilet and play something heavy on percussion. After the job is done, open the window and wash your hands with a copious amount of soap and near scalding water.

Mix the eggs and the milk. You just need a little milk. Too much will make it soggy. But too little will make it dry. Just a splash will do. While you’re stirring it, you become very aware that you have no clue what this girl’s name is. You go through the alphabet, crossing names from the list. Andrea, Amanda, Ashley, Alison…

Sprinkle in the cinnamon and nutmeg. …Lisa, Laura, Leanne, Melissa… If you were alone, you would go to town here, but, since you are cooking for two, be conservative with your spices. …Nancy, Olivia, Oliver. Fuck, that’s a boy’s name. Don’t worry, that doesn’t make you gay. Patricia, Penny… You are out of vanilla. You stand in front of the cupboard for a moment, contemplating putting more spices in to compensate, when two sets of delicate fingers wrap around your waist from behind, putting your member into immediate attention. As he stands there at half-mast you feel the her breath against your ear. Good morning, Sammy.

…Sarah, Seline, Samantha, Tanya. Oh shit, forgot Brandy…

After a long, heavy kiss, greet her with a Hey girl, turn the stove on about half-way, and pour some oil in the frying pan. Or butter. Or cooking spray. …Fuck. Pam! …Ursula, Vivian, Violet… She asks if she can make some coffee. You open the cupboard and point to it without talking, so you don’t break your concentration. …Wendy, Zelda, back to A, Abbie, Annabelle… She reaches for the coffee. As she does this, your old Iron Maiden t-shirt rises up, revealing her lime-green cotton panties with the pink trim, and her near-perfect ass: perky, round, full… You imagine burying your face in it, upgrading your semi into a raging erection. …Britney…Betty…

Pretend you are trying to get around her as you grab the bread. Find an excuse to give her a fragile touch at the base of her spine with the tips of your fingers. …Desiree, Dianne, Dana… Dip two slices of bread into the egg mix, fully covering it, and place them in the frying pan. …Francine, Felicia, Farren… Wait a bit before flipping them. They should be between golden to dark brown.

When these two pieces are done, you are about to make more until she says I’m only going to have one, with a piece of fruit, if that’s alright. You say that was your plan too and throw away the rest of the egg mix. …Joanne, Jen, Jamie… She gives you a kiss and thanks you for breakfast. You’re heart seems to stop momentarily before starting again at an accelerated rate. No problem, Babe.

…Natalie, Nora, Nadia…

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