Grinding

"So, it's bellowing and blasting over there - its big arse tucked very securely in its easy chair, mind you," the giantess narrated to her friend. "And I go, "WHAT YOU ON ABOUT NOW?!?", 'cause it's always something with that." The giant friend did, indeed, understand that it was always something with that (and nodded encouragingly). "It has THE NERVE to ask me," the giantess continued, "what I intend to serve it for its dinner. DINNER. It's half past tea time and its on about dinner as if it hadn't JUST finished an entire plate of eels-n-carrots!" The giant friend gasped, responding correctly to the level of cheek reported. "Well, I had a mind to tell it that it was getting exactly NOTHING for dinner, inviting it to waste away to dust in a hot minute, but I am ... in my heart of hearts ... no ogre," the giantess explained (and the friend successfully resisted the temptation to chime in that giants and ogres were distantly related and frequently peas in an enormous pod). "So I tell it, "I'M GRINDING BONES TO MAKE YOUR BREAD, YOU RAMPAGING SOD!" and it falls to silence." The giant friend whistled between its remaining teeth. "And, I kid you not, it yells back, "NOT BONE BREAD AGAIN!!!"," the giantess seethed into the space of her recollection. "I almost dispatched it with a kitchen cleaver, and that's no lie," the giantess continued. "Between you and me, that's lucky to be alive." The giant friend simply shook their head, amazed that the pair of 'em hadn't done each other in long before now.