We've just finished our lunch. The topic of conversation is the strawberry jam Deb used on her rye toast. The diner waitress is explaining a unique breakfast dish she sometimes enjoys - it's not on the menu.
"It's a scoop of ice cream, oatmeal, and strawberry jam."
"Is this cooked oatmeal?" I ask, imagining some kind of granola/yogurt pairing.
"No," she laughs, "That's a man question! It's okay, my husband doesn't cook, either."
"Yeah, I guess I'm the freak here. Silly me, trying to clarify your receipe for a rare, ungodly breakfast trifecta (breakfesta?). You're old. Just die already," I don't retort, leaving her tip behind as I walk to the register, pay, and exit.
2 comments:
Raw oatmeal sounds gross. Even mixed in ice cream with jam. You should at least toast it in a pan.
So you and Deb got married then. Congratulations. Who is she?
The waitress' husband does not cook; this does not affect my marital status.
Post a Comment