"Hey, there's a bagel in the kitchen that you should go eat."
"Oh thank god - I'm starving! Wait, why don't you eat it?"
"Because I can't eat it - I'm getting married in a month! You're getting married in four months; you still have time!"
"Okay fine."
And so I got up from my desk and headed to the kitchen. To my surprise, she followed me. She wasn't getting food and she already had a drink in hand, so I chalked it up to just being social.
I got to the kitchen, and sure enough, there was one last lonely bagel on a breakfast platter, with cream cheese on the side, waiting to be used up. I grabbed a plate and opened up the tub of cream cheese, ready to dress my bagel.
"Wait!"
"What?"
"Aren't you going to toast that first?"
"Oh, I hadn't thought about it. Yeah, I guess so."
"Well, it's just that that's what I would do."
"Oh, well, okay."
I tossed the bagel into the toaster, and together, my co-worker and I waited, chatting and making small talk with other visitors to the kitchen. When it was ready, I topped it with cream cheese and headed back to my desk, friend still in tow. I sat down with my bagel and took a bite before continuing my conversation with her.
"How's the bagel?"
"Good. Thanks for letting me know it was there."
As we kept talking, I noticed something. Rather than make eye contact with me, my friend kept eying the bagel. Whenever I would pick it up for a bite, her eyes would follow it from the plate to my mouth and back.
"Uh, did you want some of the bagel?"
"No! Of course not!"
"Well you can't take your eyes off it..."
"It just looks really good."
"You're starting to creep me out."
"I'm kind of going through carb withdrawal."
"I can tell."
"So is it good?"
"Yes, but I think you need to leave."
"It smells really good."
"I really think you need to leave."
"Can you describe the taste to me?"
"Okay, you really need to go now."
"I'd better go..."
...
The things that we women do to look good on the big day. I'm dreading the days that I force myself to go through carb withdrawal and become a food perv myself.
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