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crumpets

Wednesday 28 November 2007 | 3 cookies in the jar

Crumpets always make me think of Ms. Zlatarog—

(my Dutch-Scots (Irish-Indonesian-Italian?) genius friend from Girton, currently a researcher who goes skiing in the Alps, has exquisite taste in fiction, and does something mysterious and smart and complicated with the amygdala and facial expressions and emotion; I don’t get to see her nearly enough because she’s always in Portugal or Fiji and seldom in the economically beat-up, scientifically derelict corridor of the US Southwest)

—because one morning we were quietly munching a crumpetty breakfast in my room in college, and I said testily, “Why do crumpets have holes on the bottom?!” as butter and honey dripped all over my fingers and the plate and my lap and, eventually, the carpet.

Zlatarog smiled in that evil but kindly way she has. “So everyone will know how greedy you are.”

So whenever I slather margarine on my blueberry crumpets from Trader Joe’s (sadly inferior to British pastry, with a weird chemical fragrance and an insufficiently rubbery resilience) and drizzle pale honey on top, Fiona alert for any dribbles, I smile to myself about how transparently human I am, pour the oolong, and pad back in here to the study, where Pyewacket immediately plasters herself to my lap and I begin again on the dreaded seminar paper, now due tomorrow at noon.

3 cookies in the jar

  1. miss bovary said on Thursday 29 Nov 2007 at 7.03 pm:

    I just learned about the amygdala this afternoon. Almond shaped hub of fear knitted up to the base of the brain. Incredible.

  2. zlatarog said on Monday 3 Dec 2007 at 7.23 am:

    I’m sure you are making that up. I miss you too. XX

  3. zlatarog said on Monday 3 Dec 2007 at 7.31 am:

    p.s. I definitely prefer my fictional existence (here) to the present real one.


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