The Memory of Muffins

My friend's husband died. Around one A.M. or so this past Shabbos, the doctors sat everyone down and made it clear that they had lost the fight. They got her permission to shut down life support. An hour later he was gone.

I did not know him all that well, really, but this is the story about him I always remember, and tell people. If we have a wake, this is the story I will want to hear. So here it is:

Shortly after the wedding, my friend and her husband were young (she was twenty, he somewhere close to that), broke, and in need of work. They got a job together at the closing shift at Bakers of Paris.

At the end of their shift, one day, they were ready to close up, except that there was a pair of women eating muffins and drinking coffee by the window. When asked to go, they said they'd be ready soon.

So MF (my friend) and HH (her husband) loaded the dishwashers, and wiped the racks, and did all the other closing-up things they could do. Then they went back, and again, nicely asked the customers to leave, since it was now well past closing time.

One of the women laughed in their faces and said she would leave when she was ready.

MF bursts into tears.

Consider HH's emotional state. He's a very young man. His wife is crying. It's late. They want to go home. And this horrible woman is laughing at them.

He picked up a muffin and smooshed it in her face. Crumbs all over. The whole nine yards. The muffin equivalent of being pied, if you will.

Suddenly, she's not laughing, she's calling the cops, who arrived, and informed her that she could press charges for battery with a baked good if she wanted, however he expected that in that case the young people would press charges for trespassing.

Somehow, it never went to court. Unfortunately, in the process, the chassan's outstanding traffic tickets did come up...that was one heck of an expensive muffin.

Worth it, I've always felt...