Most days, the human female dines, as she puts it, al desko, meaning she shovels whatever she has brought into her face while surfing the web or reading a book. Bo-ring. She knows she should get out and get out some exercise and fresh air, but old habits are hard to break.
Today she is meeting up with a friend for lunch. She has crawled out of her office hidey-hole and stepped, blinking, into the sun like some light-starved troglodyte. She has made her way across the street and into the next building over, where they are dining at the friend’s desk. (Baby steps. Baby steps.)
Let’s see what’s on the menu. The friend has brought some leftover soup.
Looks good, doesn’t it, Sigyn? What did the human female bring? Oh, apples. How original and unexpected.
The human female has shifted into Nerd Mode and is lecturing about the one called Orleans Reinette, “an old French apple, one with a nice balance of sweet and tart, and the parent of several other cultivars.” Blah, blah, blah, blah. Dork.
Here is the inside:
What is it she wants me to notice? It looks like an apple… To anyone but the very weird, one pome is much like another. But now that I look at it closely, I do see that its green skin has quite a bit of russeting around the stem cavity. Where did we see that before, Sigyn? Oh, yes, the little apple she called Roxbury Russet. Come to think of it, this bears a remarkable resemblance to a Roxbury Russet. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that some mischievous someone had been switching the little labels on her apples…
Surely that’s not all she’s having for lunch? I mean, she could do with a bit less avoir du pois, but one cannot live on little green apples. Ah. There it is. It’s sandwich time!
Hmm. Whole wheat–good beginning. What’s inside? Oh. Cheese. Always cheese. And she always, always, eats it in the same manner.
Crusts first, in a circle. Round and round, finishing with one small, circular, doll-sized sandwich at the very end. I’m given to understand that her mother eats them in the same fashion, which raises the age-old question–Nature or Nurture? Does the human female eat her sandwiches in this odd geometric fashion because she grew up watching her mother do it, or is there something lurking in her genes which compels her to nibble circumferentially? Is there, somewhere amongst the roots of the family tree, an ancestress who consumed the Ur-sandwich this way as homage to some superstitiously-revered sun deity? Or is it a mere affectation, something she does on purpose, just to drive me mad?
Arrrgh! This is going to bother me all day. Stupid humans and their stupid lunches…