Thoughts of a dunker
I am inspired.
By a biscuit.
A Rich Tea biscuit of renowned lineage to be exact. For those who have not encountered this denizen of the biscuit tin, it is a plain, thin and eminently dunkable thing, not to be tackled by the unwary or uninitiated. It requires the touch of experience to achieve that perfect melding of beverage and biscuit, the transmutation, that alchemical marriage of liquid and solid, fixed and mutable into the perfection born of precision.
This particular pack of biscuits was a gift from a son to an ailing mother. It matters not that they arrived slightly battered, nor that he ate half the packet with his coffee upon arrival. Half a pack remained as proof of his thoughtful care, the empty half a witness to filial devotion and his concern for my waistline.
I seldom eat biscuits, but when I do, I dunk.
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