This morning at a much-too-early hour, I made an elegant breakfast of frozen waffles. The problem was that one of them flew in a parabolic arch out of the toaster and into that narrow, dirty crack in between the fridge and the counter. You know the one I am talking about: it collects lint and crumbs and other random objects and is only cleaned out once a decade when you pull out the fridge to clean behind it. This was the place I found my breakfast. I tried fitting my arm in the crack far enough to retrieve the waffle. Then I used my fork to try to reach it. I finally had to resort to a broom. I am a stressed-out tightwad who found myself in a bit of a time crunch, but even I couldn’t bring myself to salvage the dusty gray waffle.
Was this an omen for how my day would go? My day was fairly bizarre. I spent the day working with mentally ill criminals. Or, should I say, people who are mentally ill who have committed serious crimes. I think there are more bizarre days in store for me, but compared to the average worker, I suppose I have some better stories. Too bad I cannot publish them.
Tomorrow morning I think I will go for something more sensible, like cereal or egg whites.