I can’t help drooling as I nod, spellbound by the gleaming pastry. Ethan takes a knife from within his folded napkin and slices the muffin in half. It’s buttery and hot inside, steaming as if fresh from the bakery. Now we both are attached to the idea of it, even though we have no clue why. He breaks off a corner and is about to taste it when the waiter returns. Ethan drops the crumb and orders his steak. Once again, I am pulled from my muffin-revelry, and I order a classic burger and fries. (Hold the onions. Gross.) When we finish talking to the waiter and turn back, the muffin is gone. Sitting in its place is a note: “YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE.” I gasp, and Ethan does too. We whirl around, looking for a person, but no one is in sight who could have left the note. Neither of us even know what the point of the muffin was, but now, we both want it desperately. We stand up just in time to see a scrawny woman at the table next to us gulp down our muffin in a single swallow. A gut-wrenching feeling of horror and rage pulls Ethan and I back into our seats. We are speechless. But a second later, in a burst of light and commotion, a yellow glow surrounds the lady. When the light dims, she is a moth. Ethan squashes the muffin crumb beneath his shoe. There is a spark, then it fizzes and goes out. I’m glad we didn’t eat that muffin; that was close. PLAINS 20 paradox