Uncomfortably Close to the Toast

I waddled straight over to the kitchen counter because my belly demanded edible tribute right now. There was a slice of toast just sitting there on a ceramic plate, minding its own business. Naturally, I jammed my entire face directly against the crust—like, two millimeters away. You need to inspect carbs at point-blank range or they don't count! I inhaled aggressively, shouted 'GIVE SNACK!' at the butter melting into the pores, and took a cautious, aggressive lick. Warm, salty, crunchy perfection! It didn't shout back, which means the bread officially surrendered to me.