Unwanted

She had only ever known stillness, so lying here inanimate in the
corner of the tin didn't physically frustrate Bobette. But it had gone
on for a few weeks now. And Bourbon biscuits, although their life is
generally short, have a strongly developed group memory. And all
biscuits live for the moment they will become a warm chewed pulp
.

Although Bobette was not anally retentive she now found herself
frequently playing back the last sound she heard. It was not much of a
memory, being mainly a swooshing white noise experienced when someone
took the lid off the tin. There was also the hum of a food processor or
mini-blender, someone passive making a phone call saying

'uhuh .......... ahah ...........uhuh .......... ahah"

A voice said " god is that all there is left? " in disgust and a lid
was placed back over Bobette's existence.

Perhaps there is something unnatural about man including bourbon creams
in mixed festive assortments. Surely they are meant to be snugly packed
and uniform, in a slim packet. To be eaten with gloved hands, dunked
into procelain cups.
The other biscuits in the crowd had not actually made her life a
misery. But she had felt misunderstood by comparison. And there had
been once a custard cream who at first was trying to make girly
conversation but came to the conclusion that Bobette was stand-offish.
And then she put it around the box.

This situation would have been painful and paranoia inducing for
Bobette, had it gone on for much longer ; fortunately there was a
teenage lad sleepover in the house and everyone got eaten. Apart from
herself of course.
The thing is - how could you expect a bourbon and a custard cream to
have anything much in common apart from the fact that they follow the
emotional script of a sandwich?

In fact the custard cream was Barbara Windsor to Bobette's Audrey
Hepburn.

Bobette got some sort of satisfaction from thinking this.
But it was not enough to feel superior. She was looking for love.

to be contd.