There should be a master Process Document in
place, which states that Oreo desserts like this are a skeleton key to escape mazes
of rainy days, sad songs in loop, Dave-lessness, Dom-lessness, and old habits (the
bad ones).
It’s been covered at length already that
Oreos are the food of gods; they constitute a perfectly acceptable dinner party
gift (if accompanied by banana bread beer) and there’s absolutely no evidence
to date that they will not make you part-divine. As for the golden side of it, I woke up one morning
knowing that opulence is not for me (I’m a dolphin after all); but you’ve got
to be grateful for the yearly availability of special edition biscuits, even
when this means dealing more or less maturely with this worrying tendency of
theirs to go all sold-out in half a second (like I even give a duck now,
because did you know, Morrisons: CANADA). And when a five-storey office space
makes it so difficult to be a freegan
and feast to your heart’s content on beetroot crisps, lemon sweets and over-ripe
fruit, the addition of bananas is simply a legal requirement.
It’s soon to be disclosed whether I shall
be the chosen that gets to write a Document so crucial for the whole of
humanity (or perhaps just me. If so, may I please add: a slot in the diary of a busy working professional
and part-time choir singer. Vegan banana cake. Art galleries. Animation
tutorials. Vegan banana cake in art galleries after animation tutorials. Blue
eyes, and the fine art of making peace with them), and in the meantime, I’m
reminded that sunny days and disco music and shiny happy people don’t
necessarily make for good stories, and most definitely don’t turn Oreos into gold.
