I work near a Panera that I visit every so often when I don't have time to make breakfast (i.e. pour cereal into a bowl and dump milk and sugar on it). In their bakery section is a basket of delectable looking discs called "Muffies" and I want to try one quite badly. Why? Because they look uber yummy. All they are is muffin tops.. Larry David: if you're ever short on funds, I think there's a lawsuit here that you could easily win.
Anna-hoo, I covet these little delicacies every time I go in there. I bet they're pretty damn good, especially with an iced mocha. It's the best part of a muffin (biting tongue to resist innuendo) and perfect size to not give you that yucky carsick post-pastry nausea feeling.
However, the one thing holding me back is the name. Muffie. It's fuggin' ridiculous and makes you feel like some sort of lolly gagger when you say it. Say it with me a few times here:
Muffie.
Muffie.
Muffie.
Don't you feel like you should have a harelip and be wearing bib overalls with no shirt? "Yes'sum, ah reckon ahd lahk may wunna them thar muffies. Ahl take wunna them chawk-lit chip wuns, lessen' you got any bloobarry wuns in the oven raht now, ahd be glad to wait, yes ah wood!"
The word just sounds plain obscene. I have absolutely no problem with what it insinuates, if you know what I'm sayin’ *wiggling eyebrows*. But when I'm in line like I was this morning at 6:45am after a night of knocking back a bit too much of the Champagne of Beers with the homies, it's a different story. It's really one of the last words I want to say when simply trying to order a pastry. Here's how I envision it going down (no pun intended):
Panera girl: "And would you like anything from our bakery?"
Me: "Um... er... yeah, um.. one of those.." (pointing at Muffie basket. Ugh, I get nauseous just typing that word.)
Panera girl: "Oh, one of these orange scones?"
Me: "No.. I'm sorry. Just one of THOSE." (pointing abruptly at basket-o-Muffies)
Panera Girl: "Oh, you mean one of the walnut cookies?"
Me: "NO. OKAY, I GIVE UP! A MUFFIE! I WANT A GALL DAMN MUFFIE, ALL RIGHT? YOU HAPPY NOW?"
Yeah, that wouldn’t be pretty. So here I sit at work nibbling away at an apple strudel wondering if some day I will ever have the courage to order a Muffie without breaking out in either anger or uncontrollable laughter.
Hold the phone: I think I may have just thought of a way around this..
At the coffee shop we used to get the occasional deaf customer who couldn’t read lips, so he would communicate via writings on a notepad. Maybe what I need to do is pretend that I’m in a world of silence too and write down “Can’t hear or read lips. 1 chockit chip muffie and an iced mocha please, thank you.”
Lettuce hope that works.
