A simple Sunday morning breakfast for an old teacher recovering from a week of 14 hour days and hotel nights.
Slow fried potatoes with various cheeses melted on, three sloppy sunny eggs, and a few slices of whole wheat. Notice though... the toast. See the slice with a corner missing. Glance with curiosity at the maimed egg-sopping bread.
It's missing a corner. An extra heavily buttered corner, as my toast is ALWAYS missing a corner. Why? One might well ask.
Because Zeke the elderly toddler jerk face parrot will scream her bloody head off if she doesn't get a heavily buttered corner from any toast I ever have in this home.
Spoiled much?
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