A few years ago I engaged in a colourful conversation with some girls at work. They were chatting about their couters in the most graphic and obscene way. Being a lady of unshakable virtue, I steered clear of the conversation. I personally think you shouldn't know what my couter looks like, unless your face is buried in it. The instigator demanded that I give a description. I offered these three words " medium rare steak". Riotous laughter filled the room. Some were horrified, others wanted more detail. I told them to think of a medium rare steak:dark on the outside, warm ring and pink centre. How much more descriptive could one be?
A few weeks later the instigator told me that she went out for dinner and ordered her steak medium rare(as she usually does). When she cut into the steak, she said all she could think of was my flower. I had ruined that glorious piece of meat for her. Personally I think medium rare is the only way to eat a steak...and a couter.
A few weeks later the instigator told me that she went out for dinner and ordered her steak medium rare(as she usually does). When she cut into the steak, she said all she could think of was my flower. I had ruined that glorious piece of meat for her. Personally I think medium rare is the only way to eat a steak...and a couter.
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