So my wife tells me as she’s leaving that she has pulled a William Carlos Williams and had the last of the Oreos*. Which is fine; she’s getting to the end of her second trimester. Pregnant women get first dibs on the Oreos**.
So I’m in the kitchen getting myself a cup of coffee, and I pick up the container of Oreos and shake it, knowing full well that there aren’t any cookies in there, but you have to check – and damned if a cookie didn’t slide down the internal sleeve to serve as my demented American version of biscotti.
No further message; if I try to make this into something more profound people will throw rocks at my door, I’m sure of it.
*Disturbingly, Amazon had a link for “Used and new” Oreos.
**It’s in the Constitution, actually.