Pastry

Do you know what I feel like?

No. What?

Pastry.

Mmm. So go buy something.

Nah. It has to be special. I so rarely eat baked goods. It feels like it needs to be an event.

Like going to church?

Sure. A wedding. Not just any Sunday. And not a funeral. And not a baptism.

A baptism isn’t as special as buying a pastry?

Not as special as anything involving sugar and eggs and flour and an oven.

So you don’t just want a pastry. Anything baked and sweet will do?

Maybe. I think the most decadent thing would be a tart. Some kind of custard tart, perhaps.

Muffins don’t count? Or croissant?

Muffins are too widespread. They’re like the operating system of baked goods, no-one takes any notice of them any more.

Croissant? They’re still slightly exotic aren’t they?

Well, not really. Did you see my review of that French place on Siesta Key? They use frozen croissants. Oh, and claim for them to be fresh. Frauds.

It’s always the libertie with the French, never the get up and do the hard baking yards.

Savoir faire 24/7 isn’t easy to pull off you know. It requires a good night’s sleep.

And a twenty-a-day fag habit.

You can’t say fag.

You know what I mean. Ciggies. Don’t get all politically bullshit on me.

So no croissant then.

Nah. I don’t think that’ll satisfy my tart jones.

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