Muffin

This morning on train am seized by craving for chocolate chocolate chip muffin. (Specifically the gigantic kind from Costco, which several times a week after junior high school before was driven to orchestra practice--was, very very popular and cool child--pulled muffin out of freezer, popped into microwave and heated until chips started to melt a bit and then would gobble down with a tall glass of milk. Can only imagine now what eating of one of those muffins would do to spare tire. Do not care to dwell on memory of glass of milk.) At deli, see that there is only one chocolate chocolate chip muffin left and am under firm delusion that muffin is meant for me. Muffin is not, it turns out, meant for me, because am instead given vile marshmallow, chocolate chip, and yellow cake muffin, but do not discover this until go back to office, because Betsey--trying friend of the Contessa's--is buying a cup of coffee. She pretends to be happy to see me, and I her, and then ask in joking tone whether she has any roles coming up for me. Betsey looks me up and down and then up and down again with a ball bearing eye and says she'll Have to think about it. We kiss cheeks and say goodbye. Feel chilled by the experience and as mentioned above was not at all consoled by eventual meeting with muffin. Can't think why anybody would put marshmallows in a muffin.