I’ve just bought a coffee, and now, seated at my table for one, I am pulling my book from my bag, when I notice that the woman at the next table — also alone—is shyly watching me from behind the covers of her open book. We smile and exchange tentative comments about our reading selections.
My book is Margaret Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale, which I’ll be teaching in another hour. My book is a dystopian study of a postmodern, neo-colonial world, in which the women wear color-coded baggy gowns—kind of like Sarah Silverstein’s Emmy gown, but with even more material. I’m much more interested, however, in my neighbor’s choice: Mirielle Guiliano’s French Women Don't Get Fat Cookbook. She is three-quarters of the way through and tells me that it is riveting and—the most important point—helpful. It is only later—much, much later, after I have endured contemplating what I call the leek-soup-trial—that I will reflect upon the fact that this scene took place in McDonalds.