I love it when men cook... Bashny.Net

All women are divided into two types.

First love men that can bring a piano on the ninth floor.
The second love of men is able to pay for that, they brought a piano on the ninth floor.
I belong to the first. I like it when a man knows how to make beautiful hands.
I'm not that stupid, but an aesthete.
I don't like men in offices.
Men in offices and ties awfully boring. As the monument to Dzerzhinsky. Primary sexual characteristics erased social status. Covered cars, connections and conversations about deliveries and quotations. Do not leave the desire to get them out of the jackets and see what will remain.

Thirty three million four hundred sixty seven thousand three hundred forty

 

Another thing – in nature.When a man wears a thick sweater, stubble and begins to chop wood and build a fire, it is beautiful. If his slightly hoarse voice and a pair of fresh scratches after a fight with the skewers — woman melting like ice cream. It throws the hormonal wave for a couple of years ago to presstream, do not speak of emancipation. I want to give it to him immediately all that remained of the maiden of honor. Right here, on this anthill.

Now, her subconscious is thinking, that's not scary. So you can get married and reproduce. What happen – get out into the forest, build a hut and live.And we will survive. In spite of all the crises, defaults and the psychology of family relations.

In everyday life this also works. Well, when men can make a move, repair, soldering, screwed, unscrewed and do other nice female eyes things.

Eighty one million eight hundred thirty eight thousand seven hundred fifteen



I remember my friend terribly fond of his friend during the repair. They then bought an apartment. And began to make repairs. In summer. And there he whitens the ceiling. Roller so up and down, back and forth. From clothes on it trunks, bandana and a whitewash. And she's not used to. She's used that to work in a suit and the car, at home – in a leotard and lying. And here it should be Apollo. With a roller. What can you do? Well, it's something from the ladder will be removed and show what she's all woman, by the way, in the shower caught, in the kitchen...
They both then very happy. And then dispersed.Because not every month to do repairs.

But the most wonderful men who can cook.

A man who cooks, goes to another League. Competitors with all of their sausages from the meat of a young pulp remain in the rear.

Men cook beautifully. They know they're in the kitchen – holiday.

Women do not know how. They are routine and prepare accordingly. Without courage and panache. My aunt always neatly cut carrots and other tomatoes into neat pieces. All that remains, carefully wrapped and hiding in a burrow. Until next time. She is a housewife, she doesn't care about the aesthetics of the process, it is important that everyone in the house was full.

Men on such nonsense do not waste your time. Any product is chopped (that is chopped, cut up fools) around three parts. Two of them later released, but who cares when the kitchen Master. All the ingredients – the eye, which cook books, girls, are you talking about? He was born a cook, on his first birthday he has fed parents are wonderful sautéed and cake "Pavlova".To throw a little of that, add a little of this. But THAT's what. Pepper? This pepper? I asked pepper to the fish. Pepper to the fish should be white. How not? Quite? You may have no Cayenne? No?! God, how you live in General...

Moving aunt in the kitchen as the chaotic Brownian motion. Who does not believe, look at the Avatar. It's all one big Brownian particle. Though with wonderful recipes. I don't have long to watch as she bustles around the perimeter of its large kitchen, grabbing various items.This reminds me of me in my little kitchen, and I'm starting to be ashamed of.

The man was not in a hurry. He is calm as a samurai and stingy with his movements as a miner-demo. Man will not be nervous to touch the Cup, wondering what kind of salad will fit and it will look good. He quietly goes and gets the biggest.And if the salad will eventually be not enough, is it, salad, a personal problem. I had to think before going under the knife to climb.

Unlike men, my aunt is obsessed with order. She can't when she's here and there glimpses of elements of the creative process. Pans or there's eggshell. All that is dear to the heart, the aunt immediately wash that no – throws. This is to make the everyday procedure of cooking quite dull. In the end, the kitchen shines, but the impression is already spoiled.

Man, as a good leader in battle does not consider the loss. All that is left remains where left. Because why touch it if it were? Why I here, for example, those potato peelings, if they are not potatoes. Let them lie, do not ask. What to throw away? You're crazy, don't you see that I'm making? Don't distract me with all sorts of nonsense.
Upon completion of the culinary action, the kitchen looks like it blew up the garbage truck.

But man does it bother. Most importantly, it's boiling, shkvorchit, bubbling and intoxicating smell. And in the kitchen he'll clean it up. Then. Then be sure. And now to eat. Come here, darling, I will feed you! Only place under clear plates...

Fourteen million nine hundred forty eight thousand six hundred ninety one



I love it when men cook. Misty youth, I wanted a husband who cooks. I imagined how we approach it and show some kind of complex recipe. He runs an appraising glance at him, smiles and says, "Yes, you can try. Only truffle oil is better to remove. It will merge with the scent of coriander and give a nasty bunch." And then we cook, guests come to us, try and cry with happiness, realizing that up to this point knew nothing about real food…
 

The heavens heard me. My husband knows how to cook. And I know how. And we NEVER cook together. After several attempts, we realized that another will end in divorce.
Now, when preparing one, the second inhabits the perimeter of the kitchen. I don't climb tips of his steak, he puts his nose in my soup. And, you know, it's delicious.
And when I hear wafting from the kitchen: "Everything is ready! Come in for dinner!"I feel warm and good. If someone asks about the peace of mind, my peace of mind is measured by the number of dinners prepared for me by my husband.

So, guys, please, prepare. Once in a while. Women will appreciate. Even if they are, in General, the second type. published 

 

P. S. And remember, just changing your mind — together we change the world! ©

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