I couldn’t believe she wanted to hear it again. As a matter of fact, she tried to convince me that I’d never told any of it to her before, which certainly wasn’t the case. You know those moms who tell their kids the same stories from their childhoods again and again? Well – yeah, present and accounted for. But she was eating it up. She had to hear every last detail.
So I told her – yet again – how every single Saturday morning throughout my youth, my mom and dad and I would pile into our car and go to the Donut Shop for breakfast. It turns out that it wasn’t actually called the Donut Shop, but that’s the only thing we ever called it, so there you have it. Every single Saturday, I told her, I would order a cheeseburger for breakfast. No bun, just a cheeseburger. She laughed – just like she did the last time I told her the story. And I couldn’t really defend it this time any better than I could last time. A cheeseburger for breakfast is relatively preposterous, after all. …continue reading