[Still not part of the Schmoop Saga. Please be patient.]
Some of you know my boyfriend, and if you do, you already know about his crazy passionate love for the Waffle House.
I can understand it, sort of. I have been attached to certain diners myself. I still cherish fond memories of Louie’s Cafe in Baton Rouge, for example, although I don’t have any desire to go back there and see the place again. Some places are better remembered than re-experienced. I can say that I like ordering breakfast from dingy little diners, but I would really rather have some good biscuits and honey, or hash browns, or some non-greasy egg-based breakfast while playing Tom Waits’ “Night Hawks at the Diner” in my head.
Month: May 2004
if the word fits …
[Note: This story is unrelated to the Schmoop Saga that I’ve been writing lately. I’ll finish it soon. No, really I will.]
My sister sounded unusually cranky on the phone. That’s not true. It sounded usually cranky. She does not often call with peppy news.
“We can’t call Denise [her three-year-old daughter] a drama queen anymore,” she told me.
“Why not?”
“She got in trouble at school today. She called her teacher a drama queen.”
clicking. sparking. not hugging. (part three)
Let’s see. Where was I. Oh, yes, I was on the phone with my sister.
“I don’t know what to wear.”
“But is it a date? That’s how you’ll know what to wear.”
“I don’t know. How should I know?”
“Is he picking you up at your house?”
“No, we’re meeting at the theater.”
“Is it just a movie, or is he taking you to dinner after?”
“Just a movie. Although I have a sneaky plan for suggesting we go have a drink afterwards.”
Continue reading clicking. sparking. not hugging. (part three)