I eyed the bowl of chips carefully and selected the smallest, crispiest chip. Hmmmm, I thought, just how I like them—the crunchy feel, the fluffy cooked potato, the tang of salt and the moist, smoothness of cooking oil. I dived in for another.
‘When did you order them!’ Mary exclaimed, ‘You must have done it when I wasn’t looking.’
‘Well yeah, you would have said no.’ I replied.
‘Too right!’ Mary shot back. ‘You have already ordered a 500-gm steak with salad.’
‘But you know I like hot chips and they didn’t come with the steak,’ I pleaded.
‘You’re hopeless.’ Mary retorted. Any further debate was stifled by the arrival of my steak. But I offered Mary a consoling assurance, ‘I won’t eat them all, I’ll only eat the smallest, crispiest ones—the ones I really like.’
Mary was now engrossed in conversation with others in our group. Excellent, I thought, let’s do these chips. I proceeded to quietly, surreptitiously, pick away at them.
As the number of chips dwindled, they were no longer as small, or as crisp. The upside though, was that there was always one that was! I ploughed on.
Before long, I noted the numbers had dwindled to just two chips. One of them was smaller, and had a crisp patch on one side. My hand reached out to grab it. It was, after all, the smallest, and crispiest, in the bowl.
Then, rationality returned. I can’t eat that last chip, I mused, I have to show some restraint.
Mary glanced my way and saw the near-empty chip bowl. ‘You weak so-and-so. You ate all those chips!’
‘No I haven’t,’ I said, ‘I’ve shown some restraint. And now for my steak!’
Burnside Writers Group 