My housemate Lydia comes to my room, asking, "Connie, are you bored?"
She is holding a pack of digestive biscuits in one hand and looks at me earnestly.
During the one second of processing that question, thoughts run through my mind quickly, the chief of which are:
"She wants me to help her eat biscuits."
"Are we going to eat biscuits together??"
Unsure, I respond, "Yeah... I'm sort of bored..."
"Okay, good. Can you help me crush the biscuits?"
It almost felt like a letdown. (Yeah, well.) Honestly, the thoughts which run through my head. I'm more like a 5-year-old than 20.
Or maybe I really am weird after all.
(By the way, I did help her to crush the biscuits while she popped out to buy the cream cheese for the cheesecake she was going to bake; the crushed digestive biscuits form the base.)
She is holding a pack of digestive biscuits in one hand and looks at me earnestly.
During the one second of processing that question, thoughts run through my mind quickly, the chief of which are:
"She wants me to help her eat biscuits."
"Are we going to eat biscuits together??"
Unsure, I respond, "Yeah... I'm sort of bored..."
"Okay, good. Can you help me crush the biscuits?"
It almost felt like a letdown. (Yeah, well.) Honestly, the thoughts which run through my head. I'm more like a 5-year-old than 20.
Or maybe I really am weird after all.
(By the way, I did help her to crush the biscuits while she popped out to buy the cream cheese for the cheesecake she was going to bake; the crushed digestive biscuits form the base.)
No comments:
Post a Comment