Breaking bread

Meet my new friend who rode over from Singapore in Michelle's luggage and didn't raise any suspicion in the Australian customs bloodhounds. It has been three days since its arrival and it's still soft and yeasty-smelling, more than I can say of buns that have turned to stone overnight.

However, some things have changed. It no longer resides on a stylish square plate, having taken up a spot next to my computer on the desk. And something of its freshly-baked appearance has changed. Because Ren is a tenacious little cookie, and right after presenting me with my ocean-crossing "snack" from near home, Michelle had told me to break it open to see what flavour it was. And I obliged. To her great surprise, I did indeed break it open, instead of stopping after several grunting attempts and staring in surprise at Wonder Bun, here.

Apparently, this distinguishes me as the first of her victims to manage to break one of these uncannily realistic phony baked goods.

Hear my surprise when she tells me, "It's not real, LAH!" in a hurry, once I've done the deed.

Ah well. It's quite a good mouse wrist support, even with a surreal crack in its forehead. And it's still smiling, the trouper.