Even after two rounds of scones, there is enough King Island cream still in the bowl, that it is worth putting it on the top shelf of the fridge as soon as it is obvious that no one is eating any more. The popcorn, the figs and even a small piece of cheese are still out after the last person has said goodbye. The figs stay out all night.
During the week, she uses the old, larger teaspoon. She scoops the cream from the bowl, heaped teaspoons they would be called, always two and sometimes three. She does not stir, and before all of the cream can melt, she lifts the cup carefully to her lips. She sips.
The rest of the cream melts.
She has three cups of coffee instead of two and each is as good as the last.
The cream slides past her lips and through her body and folds itself onto the curve of her hips.
Unlike apples, which are fibrous, and travel through the small intestine, resting only briefly in the bowel.
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