A Crumby Tale

Just one week ago, I was walking through my favorite city.  I walked for three hours, not knowing where I was going, but having fun visiting streets and neighborhoods I hadn’t been to in awhile.

I landed exactly where I needed to be: the doorstep of a famous Italian bakery.

The display case enticed me with traditional American cookies, traditional Italian cookies, cupcakes, Napoleans, cannoli, cheesecake, princess cake, and an Italian sponge cake with some kind of cream filling. After much serious contemplation, I chose a cannoli, which tasted as good as those I was raised on and much better than the one I got on sale from my local supermarket.
All too soon it was gone. I hated to leave without trying a pignolia amaretti. It was like eating pure marzipan. I delighted in every bite. Until .. a piece fell to the sidewalk.
I gasped. My precious sweet! I looked at it, tempted to pick it up, but the germ-phobe in me said no. How downright crummy to think of missing out on one more tasty morsel. I nearly lost my cool right then and there.
Then I shrugged.
That’s the way the cookie crumbles.
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