I ran for a bus this morning. It didn’t ask me to, but I thought it would appreciate it. It didn’t. Later on, after much pondering I concluded that the reason for this is that:
a) Buses are inanimate and incapable of even the most basic reflex action, let alone independent thought or reason.
b) They don’t like me.
After this early set-back, my day took a turn for the worse. I discovered I’d run out of Gruyere, apparently as a result of having eaten it previously. I find consuming Gruyere a remarkably uplifting experience and often break out in a grin at the mere thought of it. Imagine my mood, having anticipated the ultimate in cheesy delight, only to be disappointed. I would have consoled myself with fish, chips, peas and a pickled egg, but had neither the time nor the gastric capacity. Although the aforementioned FCP&PE is my favourite meal, bar none, it isn’t something I can eat that often, requiring twenty-four hours of fasting in advance and a minimum of one hour on the couch afterwards, doing very little other than digesting.
Tomorrow I’ll go and buy some more Gruyere. I’ll leave in good time, so I don’t have to run for the bus. I’ll saunter up to it, effecting complete nonchalance and taking care not to make direct eye contact with it. I’ll return home later, elated by my cheese acquisition and emboldened by the fact that, at least once, the bus ran for me and not vice-versa.