My parents are in town from Alaska. That means lots of great food and I get to NOT be the out-of-towner for a few days! I’m enjoying showing them the sites and sounds of Memphis.
But who cares about me? Story time.
This morning on my way to work I stopped through the lobby of my parents’ hotel to grab a quick bite to eat.
I was amazed that at the early hour of 8:30 a.m. the hotel lobby was already bustling with activity and youths.
I dodged these bite-sized people on my way to the pastry cases. I spotted on my way frosted delights, donuts that were not only glazed but also had chocolate icing up top. The devilish deserts were not present at yesterdays morning lineup–but then again yesterday I did not make it down to the breakfast room until 10:30 a.m. The lineup very well may have changed.
I made it to the pastry case. There were two sandy-haired children stood in front of the two remaining donuts. One grimy youthful hand reached into the case and snatched up a donut.
His younger brother howled in protest because he could not reach the case. I saw an opportunity. I gently booty bumped the wailing child out of the way, reached in and grabbed the last remaining donut.
I hurried out the door, licking the sugar off my lips. Feeling successful.