The Croissant Conundrum

 

"I have a confession to make."

"OK," I said. I tried to adopt a priestly air, but reality was having none of it. In fact, reality went running round the corner for a quiet snigger.

"I ate a croissant!" said d, looking racked.

"OK. Well, these things happen, honey. This is a whole new way of thinking and acting. Old instincts still exist. It's like the other day with the OJ, remember?"

"Oh. Yeah, that was weird. Didn't think about the sugar content till I'd drunk it."

"Same here. S'gonna take time to rewire the instincts of decades. What kind of croissant was it?"

"Plain."

"There you go. Best kind."

"But... so, are croissants on the acceptable list or not? I need a judge's ruling!"

I swiftly changed my mental cosplay from priest to judge.

"I mean, I'm nobody's judge," I said, "but I'd say...not. Ultimately."

"Right," she said, nodding, having consigned croissants to the dustbin of culinary history with little more than a high-pitched whimper and a tragic, Ellis Island wave.

"It's just...we're going to be in Carmarthen Tuesday."

"Yesssss..." I said.

"Where one of our favourite restaurants is."

"Mm-hmm. Sloppy Joe's, I know." We'd already sssssort of agreed to get a burger there, because fuck it, ya have to eat something and there's only so much broccoli you can snaffle before you want to shoot yourself in the face.

"And they've opened up a bake shop since we were there last." She had the decency to cough. "Specializing in Viennoiserie." 

"Ah," I said.

"Was...kind of...really hoping to try a croissant there."

"Ahhhh," I said, at somewhat greater depth as a lightbulb pinged on.

"Well, I tell you what," I said. "Let's see what the toe looks like tomorrow, and see what the vascular surgeon says on Wednesday, and decide then."

"We'll have left the Viennoiserie behind before we see the sugeon," she actually didn't mumble, but could have.

To which, I'd probably have said something like "See what your toe looks like tomorrow. Buy a croissant if you absolutely feel you can't do without it on Tuesday, but hold on until you've seen the vascular surgeon on Wednesday before you eat it." Just because if we're gonna play The Moral Maze, it's worth having some fun with it.

Bottom line, an additional croissant is unlikely to have even the remotest effect on the toe or its diabetic underpinnings, but I was asked to play judge, so I did. And whereas the first one was accidental, the second would be premeditated croissantage. Which is essentially the difference between manslaughter and murrrrrrder.

Fuck it, I still had the mental judge cosplay on.

You can go back and forth on the question endlessly, and given enough time, I would do. It's be Schrodinger's Sroissant before too long - both eaten and uneaten. Bottom line, we'll see what happens, and as I say, probably very little will result either way. 

In fact, I mention all this simply because it's illustrative of the way it's possible to suddenly start overthinking when you start something like this Disappearing lark. "Oh no! The Dreaded Croissant of Irresistibility has claimed me - damn it, take the toe!"

Annnnnd breeeeeathe. 

There are other things we'll need to address, and relatively fast, but not in an immediate hurry, because the elastic of human will power is only so strong - push it too far, too fast, and it'll twang you right in the gusset.

As I say, I have yet to forfeit a nightly bowl of cereal, despite knowing it's unwise and unhealthy. So, really, what kind of judge can I be of the urge to croissant? 

We shall see how this week goes. Firstly, tomorrow - airing, visual inspection, and re-dressing of the toe in Tenby.

Oh - tomorrow, remind me to talk to you at tedious length about green corduroy...