Expectation and Reality

My freshman year, I developed a particular affinity for BYU Creamery Mini-Loaves, which are essentially glorified, 5 inch long loaves of mildly stale bread. I loved that stuff, and went through it like manna from above, especially when finals rolled around. I’m pretty sure I probably consumed three loaves a day.

My supply exhausted, I was walking to the creamery one afternoon when I noticed a hunched woman picking through the leaves by the curb. Her coat was torn, her face dirty, and I heard her muttering to herself. Clearly, she was homeless. I hated that idea: homeless at Christmas.

As I was putting the plastic-wrapped packets of joy in my basket, scenes from church seminary videos were flashing through my mind. I made sure to get an extra mini-loaf, and imagined exactly how the on-coming scene would play out:

We would then instantly become best friends as we bonded over our mutual love for processed grain products. We would go on nature hikes together, we would make a secret handshake, she’d teach how to knit, and I’d inspire her to get a college degree. Ten years down the road she would babysit my kids and our story would be on the cover of The Huffington Post. Yep. I knew how these things went down.

I approached her and struck up a light conversation. We chatted about weather and leaves, and I discretely lead the conversation to bread.

Kind lady in the green jacket: I love collecting leaves! Some can be so pretty, even at this time of the year!

Sarah: I have always loved leaves. I also love bread. I eat it a lot.

Kind lady in the green jacket: . . .

Sarah: I bought extra bread today.

Kind lady in the green jacket: . . .

Sarah: Would you like to share my extra bread with me?

Kind lady in the green jacket: Sorry, but do you think I’m homeless? Because I’m not. I have a house three blocks down the street.

Sarah:

And then I died.