Alert

Spain has nutella.  Ate a jar of it today.

You take one bite, then another, then it’s, ok good, good, I’ll take one more and then it’s over.  Then you forget about that pact and take a few more, and half the jar’s finished.  You put the cap on, do something else for fifteen minutes, and then look down and it’s the best surprise ever: the nutella is still there.

You eat a little bit more, put it away in the cabinet, wait an hour.

Check your email and do a few pushups out of guilt, and then you look in the cabinet: your old friend waiting.  Then the nutella’s done, a memory, a love lost.

Regret, but not too much.  I once read that remorse is the poison of life.

Ma G used to make this cake on birthdays and Thanksgivings and Christmases.  This is nutella’s only comparison.