The tale of the sorry walnut

Bob was a walnut. He did walnut things, and hung out in walnut clubs. He ate walnut food, and partook of the typical walnut vices, neither one to excess.

Yesterday, Bob met Sydney who is a hole-punch. Sydney opened Bob's eyes to a whole new world of hole-punching, and hole-punching accessories. They spent the entire day together, sharing their worlds, and experiencing what it is like to be a hole-punch and a walnut respectively. Sydney was no less changed by the experience than was Bob, but Bob is the protagonist of this story, not Sydney.

Eventually, they parted ways, and Bob went to the store. He was unsure of what to buy. He had always bought the safe, normal walnut-style products, but now he saw that there was a whole range of alternatives. Did he want to try some letter-opener style bread? or maybe a nice salad as made in the ancient land of the pistachios? He settled on a sandwich made with shoe-style cheese on canoe-bread.

He ate it, and it was delicious. He had never experienced anything like it. As he sat, sated in his joy, I saw him and, being hungry myself, ate him.

For this, Bob is now a very very sorry walnut. But we should not mourn him, because he experienced a day of complete experience before he was himself experienced. At least that's what I keep telling myself.