Birdie Num-Num...

I’ve long passed the stage where my ever-waiting and ever-wanted significant other needs to possess certain looks, skills or magic.


It’s all just down to one last humble demand - Chicken!

• I don’t care if the eyes are deep as dwells to drown in.
• I don’t care if the skin is so soft that I sense it against mine still hundreds of showers away.
• And I don’t care if making love is heaven, or if it’s heaven to be in love.

But chicken-wise…

When coming home with a grilled chicken, my future fellow in love and crime must take action. I will never ever give in to being the one preparing the prey. When the bird then is skin and boneless, it shall be divided upon two plates: the two chicken breasts on mine – and the rest on my love’s.

It’s a love and respect which must come natural, without a single question- otherwise we will never work. And don’t play me the guilt thing. Pass it over anything but our chicken divided.

It will kill our love.

Just be chicken-clear on it when you apply.


Or am I the chicken?

// T.