Z. is throwing a party for a friend. On the other side of a small partition, we—i.e., me supervising a crowd of kitchen hands—are making dinner. We’re in high spirits, we’re singing. I’m making some kind of cream, mayonnaise or flan, using lots of ingredients out of boxes: how easy this is! How appetizing!
But—maybe later, at the end—a small animal comes and eats from the plate.
I’m very cheerful. I am the fool, the favored entertainer.