I glanced behind me and saw that the wall mounted television was tuned to Fox News with closed captioning. I immediately had a mental image of some meaty, middle-aged Republican manager surrounding himself with young girls. I pictured the rapport they must have;
Harold opened the register drawer and his face seemingly became stone. Bebe's face turned beet red as she wondered if she'd come up short again.
"Yer a good, American girl, Bebe," said Harold. He shoved the drawer shut with one paw and patted her cheek with the other. "Now, I want you, Tiffany, Bambi, and Coral to get yerselves cleaned up real good. And then I want you to show me yer hands before you handle fresh bread."
Not exactly the best breakfast thoughts. Maybe I should've had eggs. I opened the refrigerator this morning and an egg popped out, splattering over the floor. It was almost like a prank. I wonder how it could have gotten in such a precarious position.
And, yes, it is morning, and it is breakfast time for me. I slept from 10pm to 5am. I finally put my foot down and decided I wouldn't take the small sleep bits I'd gotten the past week--I'd been sleeping three to five hours in the morning, then for about four hours from 3 or 4pm until 7 or 8pm. On Friday, I took the morning five hours, and stayed awake all the way 'til 10pm. I'd meant to go later, especially as at midnight to-night I plan to go with Tim to see Terminator 2 at the Landmark Cinema.