les contes

by jemma margaret

I love to laugh.

Really. Unquestionably one of my top five favorite things to do.

While things like being tickled and seeing puppets bopping each other on the head are both bound to induce a guffaw, chuckle, or giggle–there is nothing that brings tears of joy to my eyes quite like a funny story.

This one was priceless, I opened my mouth wide in silent, shaking admiration. Especially the bit about the onion–stories about food run a close second to those that are hilarious. And funny stories about food, well!

Unfortunately, this isn’t really one of them.

Though no longer so fashionable, I was carrying around a couple leeks today. This made me particularly self-conscious in the library because in my experience the French prefer their food smells confined to restaurants and kitchens. I was en route to a seminar and worried that my strong presence might be slightly less than welcome. Because of scheduling conflicts the seminar runs at the utterly inconvenient hour of 12h15. I had brought a cup of kefir, which turned out to be totally gross and of an uncertain consistency between spoonable and drinkable. But this time for once worked in my favor. Possibly the only thing capable of drowning out the pungent aroma of fresh leeks is smoked meat, and there was a proliferation of so-filled sandwiches preceding my arrival. No one even noticed my new perfume!

Now where were we?

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