Buns of Bastille

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This must needs be brief, as I need to read the remaining half of Order of the Phoenix and all of Half-Blood Prince by this Friday at midnight, but I simply must tell you about the clever machinations of my subconscious.

My college friend Whitney visited this weekend. Delighted about having a houseguest, I decided to forgo any pretense of healthy eating. We walked to Farm Fresh on Friday night and loaded up on yummy edibles. We got Indian foodstuffs to make for dinner, and then we turned our attentions to food for breakfast the following day.

There was some really yummy looking brie, so we grabbed that, and then we got a baguette to go along with the brie. I would have been satisfied with that alone, but Whitney wanted jam, so we mulled over the different flavors and finally settled on a tasty looking choice, Black Cherry, made by some company in France.

The next morning we feasted on our brie, baguettes, and jam. We hadn’t intended to put together a French petit-dejeuner; it just sort of happened.

Only later, while listening to NPR in the car, did we discover that it was Bastille Day.

A skeptic might think the French flavor of the breakfast was a complete coincidence, but I prefer to believe that my subconscious mind was arranging affairs that my conscious mind is too busy to bother with. Being as phenomenally brilliant as I am, I cannot be bothered with mundane matters such as remembering holidays, recalling where I put my cellphone, or driving across town without getting lost. (Took me three tries to find the cellphone store to replace that missing phone, arrrgh.) Fortunately my subconscious keeps me in line.

Maintenant, je doir lire beaucoup. A bientot.

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One response »

  1. Has your phone number changed, then? And I can I come visit if this is your version of "entertaining?" I’m Italian. We’ll gorge on pasta. And in the spirit of the holiday: Voulez vous ressembler a la Tour Eiffel apres 300 croissants au beurre?

    Reply

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