There are two kinds of people in this world: Those who start the second layer of a box of cookies without having finished the first one, and those who don’t
Some plan each trip from the table to the kitchen and back in order to make the most of it and carry everything they need in one go. Others come and go 100 times
There are two kinds of people in this world: those who throw away the bottle of ketchup two days after finding it drifting open in the fridge, and those who think that expiration dates are a myth and that food is edible until it is not; those who check every side of every peach in the basket to eat the one that is ripest and most likely to spoil, and those who take whichever fell into their hands first; those that have matching dispensers for soaps and detergents and keep them shiny, full and with well-rinsed spouts, and those that simply leave the new green bottle by the sink, as the old one leans upside down against the wall, waiting to be filled with a bit of water and shaken to squeeze out the last drops. Some always place the dishcloth, clean and spread out, on the dish rack, so that it dries between uses, and others just leave it there all squished, dripping, slimy, balled up, wedged behind the faucet.
Some seem capable of chasing for hours the last four lentils on the plate, insistently tapping the spoon against the dish, and others wipe their plate clean without anyone even noticing that they ate at all; some attack the jar of yogurt with such fervor that the ringing sounds like the very bells of Notre Dame, and others throw the jar away after the third scoop, with half the yogurt still uneaten. When adding salt, some look like they are wielding a maraca, shaking their hand compulsively to end up pouring it all in a tiny pile in the middle of the toast. Others, however, seem to have the virtue of being able to distribute the seasonings perfectly in a single, graceful pass — or, in any case, of not fretting too much about it.
Lots of people have a cupboard filled with every last old, dented, scratched, battered frying pan that they have ever owned; the rest follow Robert De Niro’s dogma of strict lightness from the movie Heat, and never get attached to anything they cannot leave behind in less than 30 seconds if they are ever chased by the police. Some purchase every new electronic culinary gadget that hits the market and renew their pots, their pans and their coffee maker’s gasket every six months; others have spent a lifetime with a single frying pan, kept inside the oven, and one drawer containing a rusty blade, two dry promotional pens, a mess of rubber bands, some breadcrumbs, a couple of clothes pins and three mismatched serrated knives. They beat the egg whites until stiff in a bowl with a fork, and their cakes come out well.
For some people, starting the second layer of cookies in a box before finishing the first one is a crime; for others, life is about opening the box, taking the ones they’re in the mood for and worrying about important things, not about trifles. The former usually leave their favorite part of a dish for last; the latter see no reason to postpone a pleasure that is within reach.
There are people who leave home to buy four bananas; they go to the store, take four bananas, pay for them and leave. Others go to buy bananas, but when they see some nice, juicy plums next to some bananas that look too black, they change their minds. There are those who plan each trip from the table to the kitchen and from the kitchen to the table in order to make the most of it and carry everything they need in one go. Others come and go 100 times, to get the serving ladle, the bread, some water. Some open the package of macaroni with scissors, careful not to damage the resealable sticker, so that they can close it again after pouring the right amount of pasta into the water. Others tear it up and, if the packaging is rendered unusable, they either put it in some random plastic bag and tie it with a knot or simply cook all the pasta in the package — not that there’s that much left, anyway.
Some keep the leftover salad on the same serving platter that they used at lunch, as is, in the fridge, balanced on top of some champagne bottles. Meanwhile, others make an extra effort to avoid having leftover salad, or put it in a container and leave it, tightly covered, on a visible shelf, so that it is the first thing to come out at dinner time.
I feel incapable of addressing major world conflicts. My commitment to the future is not to get annoyed by nonsense — or, at least, by one less nonsense than today.
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