short on butter again, the scone sat unfinished on her plate. a wounded monk in the crossfire of desire and reality.
she sat pouting, staring at the monstrosity of sweet bread like one might a snoring bedfellow. not enough butter. cheap.
overall, she decided, she preferred biscuits over bread. savory or sweet, didn't much matter the kind of bread, there was hardly ever enough butter. but biscuits came with built in buttery goodness.
shortbread, she thought, then.
that is what she would have next time. yes. forget the scones and lack of butter. she'd have a biscuit with her tea.
