I have not eaten in about 36 hours. My blood sugar is dropping, my hands are shaking, and I feel like I am going to pass out. The coffee, that I might as well be mainlining, is clearly not helping. The thought of food, anything solid, is making my stomach swim. I am desperately trying to negotiate with my head and my stomach, we have to eat something. Please.
A danish, a cream cheese danish, sprinkled with powdered sugar. All parties agree this will solve all of the world’s problems, and I might even be able to swallow it. I know just the place, a little store, right on the way. It will be perfect.
I get there to find there are no danish. They always have danish. They have been out of danish, until today. I am standing in front of the pastry case, about to go to tears over a breakfast roll. They have muffins, bagels, cinnamon rolls with icing, croissants – butter and chocolate. My stomach is rapidly vetoing every possible choice. I am about to go to pieces in front of the pastry case.
A very well dressed, very composed lady is eying me from the deli counter. She is trying to decide if she wants one pound or two of something. She comes over to pick something out of the pastry case, and I am in the way.
“Excuse me,” I say apologizing. “They didn’t have what I wanted and now I have to figure something else out.”
She smiles kindly at me and says “Well, it’s just a breakfast roll dear. I don’t think it merits too much thought.” She blindly picks a chocolate muffin off the shelf and throws it in the bag. A shadow crosses her face as she adds, “It’s not like we’re pickin’ husbands.”