Even now, more than a decade after discovering the correct pronunciation for “sachet”, I still have to prevent myself saying satchette. Every time.
One sachet of sugar is not enough. Two is too many. I always tear two. If possible I use one brown and one white. This is an absurd affectation, but I like the idea of the mix. I might have discovered something that everybody else is missing out on.
I tip both, but not fully. Each gets left with a quarter-load. The remains get tossed into the paper-recycling bin. I picture the trace sugar dissolving when they pulp the paper. Dispersing through the solution. Pressed into sheets for conscientious publications. Someone licks their thumb to turn a page and finds their day unexpectedly sweetened.