An Open Letter to Muffin Bottoms

Dear muffin bottoms,
I quite enjoy eating your top half. Whenever I'm in a bakery, I skip right over the scones and croissants (and you know how I feel about French food), hem and haw over glazed bagels for a while (yes, those exist), and jump straight for the sugar coated deliciousness that is the muffin. I mean, working in a grocery store, I can resist the temptation of the ready-made sesame chicken, the heaps of Brie, and the brownie cakes. But it never fails...I seem to always go home with at least one muffin.

But here's the thing. When we see the enticing muffin, it is always the top half that grabs our attention--the part that spills over the edges, the part that can hold the most chocolate chips. I may not like muffin tops on my jeans, but eating the muffin top is the only part of pastry-munching that is worth the extra weight. By the time I get to you, oh dastardly muffin-bottom, I'm sick of the whole thing. Even if you were made at the same time as the muffin top (which, presumably, you were), you taste more stale. You're flat and filled with no delicious surprises. And if I put you in the fridge for some unsuspecting citizen to snack on, you will become forgotten. You are, without a doubt, the dumbest piece of pastry I have ever seen.

So why must you always stay attached to your top counterpart? I'm sure you're growing sick of feeling like the inferior section of the muffin. You do have great potential. If you and your muffin-bottom friends congregated, you could become a muffin-bottom pie. We could smother you in chocolate and bake you together, and you would be re-united with your friends who all think (and taste) alike.

Is this a pride thing? Because I am very proud of you for trying to blend into the rest of the muffin. But it's like putting a fifth grader in a college class. You're the bottom of the mountain--one's ultimate goal is to see the view from the top of the mountain. And if you start from that extraordinary mountain-top, it'll only get disappointing from there. But if the only thing you see around you is mountain-bottoms, it instantly becomes more beautiful.

So perhaps it isn't you, it's us. We're starting at the top of the muffin, which is the top of the mountain. We are beginning with the extraordinary view, and only grow disappointed by the normality of the rest of our journey. Perhaps we should all start at the bottom of the muffin, if you insist on staying attached to this pastry. Or, we should go into our muffin-eating experience without insisting on the goal, rather, we should experience the journey.

We like what you're trying to tell us about life, muffin-bottoms, we just don't like you as much as muffin-tops.

Namaste.