I was reviewing my Linkendin contacts while making cinnamon, sugar toast for the first time in a couple of decades. The last time I made it was for Chelsea when she was little and always demanded that I "cut the rine off the bread". I did and she loved it.
Now I'm doing it for Cassidy who is six.
The thing about making Cinnamon, sugar toast while using your computer is that butter and spices get on your keyboard which definitley make communication slower yet somehow sweeter.
While this is taking place Laurel, the eight year old, is chomping down on the cheeseburger she got from the Breakfast Club. She is oblivious to everything going on around her. This is rare as Laurel cannot brush her teeth without talking.
On Tuesdays she goes to the Breakfast Club with me to spend her allowence which she gets on Monday evening. She talks there too and has already become a regular.
Chelsea was a daily regular when she was little and was the first artist who had her work displayed beside the cash register. She colored a picture of the two dogs eating spagetti until they kissed and wrote "Bruce" above one dog and "Kyle" above the other. Bruce, or Bubba, helped found the place, loved Chelsea who loved him though Bruce loved most everybody.
Kyle was Bruce's room mate and a cook at the Club. He never wore underwear. In those days, all cooks wore "whites" ... the Chef uniform with a white coat, white pants, hat if you needed it. (This was before the days of County Health inspections of restaurants where all good Nazis have gone to work while still hiding out.) Whenever Kyle bent over to crack an egg on the grill, his ass would show through the whites as he mooned every customer at the counter.
Ah ... the good old days!
Anyway, Cassidy is loving my Cinnamon, Sugar Toast with no rine, not really cooked but slightly warmed in the oven and then covered in Ketchup. She has three peices and demands more but ... we're out of Ketchup.
I'd forgotten that children cannot eat anything without Ketchup.
We go through a couple of gallons a day at our house.
It is fascinating to watch what they put Ketchup on every night at dinner. Pizza, steak, chicken, vegetables, chocholate chip cookies, popcorn, onion soup and ... lettuce.
It's fascinating.
Of course, I don't eat.
Most of these stories I write have a point.
This one doesn't.
It just is what it is.
