Danish

Sauntering through the doors of Starbucks, I know what I need. My eyes scan frantically for the sacred treasure, gazing deeply through the bakery glass — there she lies, the best thing I’ve ever eaten: a standard cheese danish, just waiting to be gently warmed by the loving barista, full of buttery dough and delicious magic. 

Overcoming social anxiety is easy when there’s the promise of the danish at the end of an awkward interaction, and as I finish ordering, the reality of the brutal waiting period hits me. Too full of anticipation to sit down, I stand strangely in the corner until finally, finally, the barista calls my name and everything falls into place. 

Seconds later, I’ve stowed myself in another corner, cradling the precious treat close. The first bite is the best – full of tasty heaven – and in no time, the cheese danish has gone to a better place.