There's a woman in my building who is originally from a town in the U.S. that is famous for figs. I don't know the name of it, but that's what she tells us. And every time she goes to visit her family in the area, she brings back a little box of assorted figs and leaves them on the table in the lunchroom.
Now, it's not exactly girl guide cookies or doughnuts we're talking about here, but nevertheless, usually the little box empties after a couple days. I am still unsure why this is, but such are the mysteries of life.
Anyhow, upon returning from her most recent trip a week or so ago, she brought back more figs. An unusually large box of figs. Not quite Costco-sized (would they even sell such a product? Probably) but still, a pretty goddamn big box.
Today, the box of assorted figs still sits – three-quarters full – in the lunchroom. It has been more than a week. The fig-bringer just noticed how many are left (and the fact that they're starting to go south, freshness-wise) and made a big deal about it, to the point where she seems offended, as though our inability, or lack of desire, to eat all the figs is somehow an affront to her hometown.
At the risk of engaging in a long, stupid conversation about figs, I kept my mouth shut. But seriously, what the fuck did she expect?
They're fucking figs.