Better Than Birthday Cake

Imagine getting to the patisserie just as a batch of crispy, flaky, buttery croissants comes out of the oven. Only you aren't at a patisserie. You're not sure if there even is a patisserie within 30 miles of home. But no mind, you are at home.

What last night came out of the Trader Joe's package from the freezer as a nondescript frozen puck, this morning was a pillow of dough, ready for the oven.

You sip your coffee and wait. You smell butter. And pastry. Then, chocolate. Yes. Chocolate.

And then the timer goes off. You look. It is perfectly brown.

You plate. You wait.

And when you can't wait another minute, you bite in. Your glasses steam up and flaky crumbs fall like confetti and decorate the plate. The chocolate is revealed.

Your next bite is perfect: a little pastry, a little chocolate. So is the next.

You try not to moan. But you realize no one is there to hear you, so you give in. You pick up the stray flakes with your finger tip and eat those too. And then it is gone.

But there are more where they came from for another day. And life is good.