Breakfast

I dropped Banana-man off at the Walmart front door.  “You’ll find me in McDonald’s,” He told me as he shuffled out of the car.

I parked, always beside a cart return, never at the front (he needs the walk).

I arrive in McDonald’s just as his breakfast #2 is being delivered to his table by a lovely young Spanish woman.  In case you’re wondering, yes, he is a Hobbit, and won’t stop at asking for Breakfast #3 if he thought he could get away with it.

“You ordered a pancake?!” I was baffled, it wasn’t his usual sausage, and I was a little horrified at the liquid sugar syrup package the size of a tub of margarine – waiting to be consumed by the diabetic.

“No,” he said sadly, “that’s not what I asked for.”

I took pity; “I’ll change it,” and I scooped it from under him before he could say anything more.

The Spanish Lady very kindly accepted the pancake back, and swapped it for a sausage patty.

I slid the still steaming patty to him and sat down.

He looked sad.

“What’s wrong?”  I asked.

“Nothing, this is fine; but I’d actually ordered a hash brown…”

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