when i first came to this country and ordered a
scone in a starbucks--asking for a 'skaun' in terms
of pronunciation. i was corrected and asked,
"do you mean 'skone'"
to which i replied,
"sure mate" with a hint of snobby ironic sarcasm
what they served me was a cannon ball of bready
essence-of-hint-of-kinda-sorta scone. perhaps it was
a 'skone' after all
anyway, i sort of gravitated to southern bisquits, which
when small and mildly hard from not coming out of the
oven in time, reminded more of my family's version of
homemade and savory--not sweet, scones. the sort i
snarked with cheddar, and accompanied milky and sugary
tea.
anyway, i'm sitting in my office--which in PE terms means
a shitty closet that's a mess, but with a door that locks. i still
haven't learned my lesson, i have my bag of skones with me,
shaped like a gujarati samosa and with the consistancy of a
hamburger bun...this one with chocolate bits in it.
in a word...BARF. it's my own fault, i'm to blame. it's not you
America, it's me. i should have told you, shouldn't have set
you up like that. lets just take some time off for a bit, i'll eat
pizza and patato chips and pepsi, and you can stop protenting
french fries are indeed 'chips'. lets see a counselor and take
things slowly, we've been together too long to end it now
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