Dancing on My Table

I’ll have to decide whether I am going to eat the eggplant with the small brown streak in it or not. I’m not sure I’m feeling like eggplant, as much as I love it. But I’ve just cleaned my teeth to get rid of the peanuts, which were just slightly past their best. Well, I’m fussy. I eat more peanuts than anyone I know. I was annoyed when they got taken off aircraft cos I loved those little snack packs of them. I always asked for extras, then, alone in some hotel room somewhere, as an aperitif with a glass of shoddy plonk from the room fridge, I’d sit, feet up on whatever bit of furniture I could stretch too, nibbling the peanuts, one by one, savouring each salty crunchy little bite. They were always good, always fresh, because, stuffed into small packets, there was not much air. The packets I buy now, with enough for a week of solid solitary munching, are often, well, to a peanut afficionado, not quite there.