Blonde or Brunette?

I’ve been doing a whole lot of speculating recently, much of it has to do with my pending career but a significant part has to do with the question that has alluded many of the gentry for centuries:

“Blondes or Brunettes?”

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I myself happen to prefer Brunettes. I love the whole dark brown eyes, the wavy curls, I love the mystery as opposed to the siren that is the Blonde. Maybe I base my opinion off of something which has become a folklore of old:

“The way to a mans heart is through his stomach.”

Perhaps this didn’t just mean to feed him good food but if he fux you around pour copious amounts of salt onto his food and watch him slowly deteriorate from heart disease and death as the result of a heart attack at 26. Who in hell knows, well the lady who used to casually sprinkle sodium-whatever-ulphate to her husbands food til he ended up in hospital, check his blood and realized what happened… Possibly a blonde who, by the way, is not dead yet but serving a jail term for being a cunning cactus.

If I were to put this argument into a culinary context and base it off of two fairly recent ex girlfriends, who each represented Team Blonde and Team Brunette, Brunettes would win by a rather astronomical margin because my although my ex girlfriend who was blonde ensured I were fed, she only used to cook fry ups -eggs, beans, toast and a cuppa. I’m not really fussy, but she didn’t add any salt or pepper to the eggs when cooking nor did she do so with the beans. I was also too polite to hurt her feelings or jeopardize my chances of having sexy time on that day, weekend, occasion so I endured the blandness and took my frustrations out in other ways. *laughs to self

The fact that the eggs nor beans were seasoned was problematic because I grew up in a Carribbean household and every time mother or father did a fry up (Jamaican style) the beans weren’t bland but had onions, peppers, tomatoes, whilst the eggs were seasoned with salt and pepper to accompany the plantain and fried dumplins. I’m not tryna say the Blondie should of tried to compete but it was near enough hell enduring the same bland fry up meal for all of three months, gotta be the main reason for the breakup -I think it went something like:

Babe, you’re a lovely lady but I can no longer eat a bland fry up every time I come over. I don’t even know if you can cook anything other than eggs beans and toast but since you have never cooked anything else these past three months I’m better off moving on because my Gran seems to think my Mums not feeding me properly because I look malnourished. I really can’t let mother take the blame for me always being at yours eating your bland food. All the best, I think can’t cook won’t cook is available to watch on YouTube.

In contrast to Blondie, the Brunette was master chef. Never being one to eat salad she converted me with her homemade concoctions. I’d get breakfast in bed, literally waking up seeing her with a tray and a cuppa as if she knew I was waking in the next few seconds, her timing was on point. She taught me how to cook tuna pasta over bbm, and chicken and rice whilst I watched her prepare the lunch. There were never any qualms about this lady’s cooking because she was thorough with the seasoning, even using some of Daddy’s specially imported liquid chicken stock to prepare my meals, vegetables grown in the allotment, and the special homemade pepper sauce and balsamic vinegar, which had been imported all the way from her island to these shores. Fact of the matter is, there were so many parallels in the Brunette’s cooking methods and those at home, I’m not sure whether it was an island thing or simply that she was an exceptional chef. Either way I’ll always prefer an olive skinned Brunette with big brown eyes and light curly hair over a blonde bombshell because there’s this air of intrigue to be found, the air of intrigue which draws you closer…

“What The Fuck?!”

One must stop because all this talk is making me wonder why she’s an ex rather than a wife, and if truth be told I’m slyly getting moshi because her salads were untouchable –cue dramatic violins and the stroking of beard as I look up into the sky. I guess my next debate will be about where the Redhead fits into all of this because I’m feeling the freckles and and the fact that some of you remind me of Spiderman’s missus Mary Jane and Jean Grey from the X-Men. (I’m totally into my Graphic Novels -clever way to describe a comic book)

Brunettes rule from my culinary experiences, how about you?

  1. Are you a Blonde lover?
  2. Are you a Brunette who can’t cook?
  3. Are you wondering why I didn’t mention the Afro’s?

K O

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