Bathida Bagshot goes to the Buffet

Buffets.

I never really thought much about them. Get a nibble or 2 at the food station you want and sit down.

Until today.

Something odd happened in my yet-undiagnosed brain.

I waddled the line like Bathilda Bagshot, a bit aimlessly, thinking “I should like an egg and maybe a sausage.” Twirling, swirling in a crowd of hungry hummingbirds buzzing around woven vats of noodles and trimmings.

In Hong Kong compounded by whatever is happening with my grey matter, finding breakfast proved impossible. I stumbled towards eggs. And saw sausage. I put a measly chicken sausage on a slithering, giant Western dinner plate, and while reaching for a second, lost the first.

My hand felt the non-empty plate catapult upright. Smooth, slinky sausage on the floor.

Defeated.

I walked back to the breakfast table with a single sausage, a single tear, and a plan to return to the Buffet with a small, manageable bowl.

Mr. W would have none of it. He hopped up, knew what I liked for breakfast, and was back in less than a minute.

Why can I not do this? Why did I get so confused and not be able to ask for help? What would I do on my own?

I’m hoping we may have some answers in a few weeks when I go in for some horrible neurologic testing.

For now, I’ll order from the menu.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. 2010. Warner Brothers.

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