Wearing glasses

'I don't think I can resist the desert,' says my colleague L. after we've had our usual orange (we are members of the citrus club). "I won't have any, I am losing weight," I reply. Yet I insist that we pass by the desert table to see what's there.

S., who sits just outside my office, has a white board above her desk. An arrow drawn on it points to her left. It bears the legend: "Cookies and Chocolate," and indeed points to cookies -- and chocolate.

And so it is that L. and I go to the desert table. There is a strawberry mousse, chocolate cookies, and an apple cobbler. That's what the labels say. However, this is not what I see. I see a fluorescent pinkish cream that, when applied to your legs, removes hair painlessly. I see some clogs of sand. I see small yellow trays with epoxy glue laid on them.

The arrow. It points down. I look up. There is no cookie there, no chocolate. And even if there were, they would be too high to reach.