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By John Sheirer Submitted by John Sheirer Date: 2002 Apr 13 Comment on this Work [[2002.04.13.15.37.16555]] |
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Breakfast They just got a Cracker Barrel in the next town over. This is a chain of combination restaurant/craft shops that started in the south and is making it's way north, all the way up to Connecticut, where I'm having breakfast. One of the drawbacks to the area where I live is that there's just not a lot of good breakfast places. Sure, we've got McDonald's, and that's okay if you're in a hurry and only interested in breakfast on the run. And there's Denny's and Friendy's, interchangeable places where they usually neglect to scrape the onions from the hash browns off the grill before they apply your pancake batter. No amount of syrup can cover the taste of an onion-flavored pancake. What I like to do for breakfast at Cracker Barrel is bring my laptop computer and a pad and pen in case I'm inspired to write. I've also got a selection of books to satisfy my reading appetite and to inspire my writing. The server takes my order and delivers a huge stack of non-onion-flavored pancakes with a little bottle of blueberry syrup, two sausage patties, two thick-sliced slabs of country bacon, and two biscuits slathered in butter and jam. This will be my only mean of the day. Through the afternoon and evening, I'll snack on apples, carrots, and rice cakes as penance for my sinfully wonderful breakfast. I come here for a couple hours two or three mornings a week before going to work. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, as the saying goes. And for a spartan like me, it's also one of my few indulgences--books, laptop computers, and big breakfasts. Recently, the Cracker Barrel cashier has started flirting with me. She has seen me reading or writing and come over to say hi and ask what I'm working on. We've had a few very nice conversations. She's bright, friendly, very pretty, has a terrific smile, and is self-confident enough not to dye the sexy beginnings of gray in her bobbed black hair. We talk about books and school and movies, plus a few personal subjects. I've discovered that we have a lot in common. We're both divorced, childless, about the same age, and living in small apartments in towns five miles apart. So when she flirts, I cant help but think, "hey, why not?" and flirt back a little myself. But then I think about my history. I've got one ex-wife and about a dozen ex-girlfriends dating back twenty years. All of them have been bright, pretty, and wonderful in so many different ways. Some have been deep, some shallow. Some have left huge voids in my life, some just relief. I remember all of their names, and I'm sure some still think of me. A few probably hate me, but a few are still friends. The other day, my cashier friend was clearly hinting about going to a movie this weekend. I'm often kind of dense about these things, but I understand flirting well enough to know that she was opening a door for me to walk through with an invitation to whatever might be playing at the multiplex down the road form the Cracker Barrel. For most of my life, I would have happily walked through that open door, thrilled to spend time in the company of an intelligent, attractive, available woman who clearly wanted my company. The possibilities for where this date might lead are endless and appealing--first date, second date, third, fourth, girlfriend, lover, fiancee, wife. Or ex-wife. Maybe just ex-girlfriend. Maybe I'm getting old. It's a door I'm not going to pass through this time. Yes, she's terrific. But there's a lot more terrific women in this area than there are terrific breakfast places. |