The Way The Cookie Crumbles

A friend of mine, returning to South Africa from a long stay in Europe found herself with some time to spare at London's Heathrow Airport. Buying a cup of coffee and a small package of cookies, she staggered, laden with luggage, to an unoccupied table. She was reading the morning paper when she became aware of someone rustling at her table. From behind her paper she was flabbergasted to see a neatly dressed young man helping himself to her cookies. She did not want to make a scene, so she leaned across and took a cookie for herself. A minute or so passed. More rustling. He was helping himself to another cookie.
By the time they were down to the last cookie in the package, she was very angry but still could not bring herself to say anything. Then the young man broke the remaining cookie in two, pushed half across to her, ate the other half and left.
Some time later, when the public-address system called for her to present her ticket, she was still fuming. Imagining her embarrassment when she opened her handbag and she was confronted by her package of cookies. She had been eating his.

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