I knew she wasn't normal
when I saw her ad online.
Turns out she had no taste for cheese
or coffee or red wine.
She didn't get her greatest kicks
from drugs or high end fashions.
No, slightly more prosaic
were her own obsessive passions.
The sight of diamonds didn't
leave her blinded, like a rabbit.
This girl had one addiction:
a major biscuit habit.
Our first date was a little odd –
she called me up from Aldi
to tell me she was stocking up
on Nice and Garibaldi.
I suggested going out to eat
but she didn't want Chinese
or Indian or Mexican:
this girl was hard to please!
So, in the end, we went to hers,
she said she'd cook for me,
but all I found, when I got there
were Bourbons and Rich Tea!
I was done! All set to leave
until she swayed her hips
and, with her hungry eyes on me,
reached for the chocolate chips.
The custard creams! The party rings!
The moistened chocolate fingers!
I've tried to wipe it from my mind,
yet still, that image lingers.
Nut Crunch, pink wafers, oatcakes,
Digestives, Hobnobs too!
(Not Jaffa cakes, coz those are cakes,
and that would never do!)
And so, I went there every day
To get my sugar fix.
The things that girl could do
with her lips wrapped round a Twix!
We carried on that way for months,
her appetite not fleeting.
Until one day the whole thing stopped:
she'd developed diabetes.
So carrot sticks replaced shortbread
but salad's not as sexy.
Then, when she found me with the jam
She lost all her respect for me.
She left me then, a crumpled mess –
all sticky and half-chewed –
with nothing left but rice cakes
to dip into my brew.
And even now I think of her
when eating gingerbread.
She left fructose in my heart that year
and crumbs all in my bed.