Liz Splitting Up Doughnuts Like She’s Goddamn King Solomon Over Here

Oh, Wise Liz. Who came, without request, knowing a dilemma could be solved by her hand.

A Red Velvet Doughnut, eyed by four eyes, — two pairs. Each soul desiring the full circumference of that Red Velvet, but neither ready to yield.

“We can cut this one up. There are other goodies here.”

Without provocation, Liz proceeded. Lo, she cut the Doughnut up.

The problem was solved. The peasants nodded with their portion of Red Velvet in hand.

But Liz had not finished ruling. She began to cut another pastry up: a Chocolate Frosted Cruller. She left the knife in it halfway, satisfied with the initiative. Another worker will take up arms and finish the cut. Liz had done the office a favor.

Then, pulling another knife out from the knife cup, she sliced a plump Boston Creme into thirds.

And took two of those thirds.

“One for now, and the other for… now!”

Oh, she laughed, and she laughed, and they all laughed.

All but Nicholas. For he was eyeing the Boston Creme to take as his own. Not one third of it, — not one half of it. The remaining Creme had released itself all over the box. It was no longer appealing.

Not all can be pleased in the court of King Solomon.