Cashew Nuts



Before catching my train home from Baker Street, I treated myself to a bag of cashew nuts. Having found a seat on the northbound Metropolitan line train, I ripped the bag open and dug in. I soon noticed that a shovel faced woman sitting opposite me was giving me a disapproving look. As soon as she noticed me seeing her, she looked away. I looked away too. I ate another cashew nut and looked out of the window.  I was able to feel her gaze burning a hole in my temple. I looked her way. Her face was contorted with apparent disgust.

Did she not like cashew nuts? Did the sight of someone gorging himself on a bagful of them repulse her?  I refrained from  putting another nut in my mouth. I decided to wait and enjoy them after departing  the train at my stop.

This was easier said than done. As we rolled on northwards, the thought of those delicious honey glazed cashews obsessed me. I decided that she could go to Hell. I pulled the bag open and scooped a handful into my salivating gob. As I did this, I kept my eyes on the woman. She suddenly started from her snooze, the rustle of the bag having stunned her awake.

I realised then that it was the noisy rustle of the bag of nuts that had aroused her anger. She probably loves cashew nuts. Who on Earth doesn't?

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