This morning my lovely little fiance, E, and I treated ourselves to a bit of breakfast at Fran's on Shuter at Victoria.
After a nice wait in line, we were shown to a table inside (which was against the wishes of the lovely E, who would have preferred a cosy patio spot) and set beside a mother and daughter, who were also having a bit of breakfast.
In hindsight, the fact that there was no room on the patio was a small blessing.
BECAUSE the daughter to my right (E's left) proceeded to eat her toast in the most extraordinary way!
Surely you've heard of, or seen, or ARE, people who cut the crust off their bread before eating it. Nervous, particular people with no regard for the starving kids in China, or the famished inmate in San Quentin's solitary confinement.
Take them out in the streets and shoot them, I know.
However, this queer bird next to us cut off the crusts, one by one, and ate them. Ate ONLY them.
By "them", I mean the crusts.
She carved up a piece of crust, took a nip, then smeared peanut butter on the remaining inch and ate it.
All that she left on her plate was what people generally consider, no matter what their eccentricity, as the "edible bits": big toasted, triangles of delicious soft bread.
It's like buying a Kit Kat and only eating the chocolate (I've seen you people out there who do this--you know who you are!).
It's like opening a bottle of wine and only sucking on the cork.
It's like buying the "Best of Frank Sinatra" and only listening to 'LA is My Lady'.
It's like buying a condom and only wearing it around the house!
. . . but you get the picture.
Like all great character flaws, I blame the parents.
Pulling a stunt like that at the breakfast table should have had some kind of corporal result--smack to the fingers with a ruler, flick to the earlobe, push-ups on the knuckles--something for Christ's sake!
Now the world is stuck with this loopy wasteoid who leaves a trail of perfectly fine triangles of bread in her wake!