I had a muffin earlier. I like muffins. As Jerry Seinfeld once said, “A muffin can be very filling.” I unwrapped the muffin and discovered that there was a second paper cup underneath. That happens sometimes, y’know – a double wrapped muffin or cupcake. And you peel back that thin paper or foil veneer and realize slowly yet suddenly that there’s yet more to reveal. It’s exciting! Right? Exciting and yet disheartening. At first, it’s like you’ve uncovered a special prize, something baked just for you. Then you realize that you’ve only gotten halfway to the point of eating the pastry and you have to keep unwrapping to have your delicious, delicious prize. Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by the horrid, ridiculous thought: what if this is like one of those Russian nesting dolls and I keep removing wrappers until eventually there’s only a teeny tiny muffin at the center. But that’s silly, of course. However, the dread persists. What if I don’t have the right to eat this muffin? What if – by the virtue of it being doubled wrapped – this muffin has presented itself in such a rare light that, by eating it, I nullify the uniqueness? Surely, this second skin signifies a muffin above and beyond, one that deserves to survive. But, considering the baser nature of our will, our desires, our hunger, this muffin with something extra is nothing more than a tease – a suggestive sweet roll that sheds its layers provocatively one at a time until there is nothing to hide and its flaky, crusty goodness is laid bare. The mind reels. The imagination soars. The determination wavers.
Of course, at the end of the day it’s just a stupid muffin and I ate the hell out of that sucker.