"It’s 6:18 and you’re listening to Minnesota Public Radio…"
Here we go again. 2 minutes before Joel usually leaves for work, and I haven’t gotten out of bed to start making breakfast. He turns and switches off the radio, our alarm clock that hasn’t shared anything too alarming with us recently, and heads to the shower. While brushing my teeth and donning the shirt and jeans that I had only worn for a few hours the evening before, I try to pull my out of my mind’s foggy cloud of morning what it was that I had planned to prepare for breakfast. Oh, yes. Burritoes. My hand pushes back on the carton of eggs that I had reached for. No, that will not do. There is not enogh time for defrosting breakfast sausage, scrambling eggs and assembling the copycat recipe for McDonald’s sausage-and-egg burrito with American cheese and picante sauce. Beneath the package of corn tortillas is a new block of Meunster cheese. A brown bag on the next shelf is slightly stained with moisture and oil from the round loaf of bread that mysteriously accompanied the small Margherita pizza that I had picked up at Buca di Bepo the evening before. Having chopped two triangles from the crusty round, I poured glasses of orange juice while heating the bread in the microwave. My customer soon meets me in the doorway between the coat closet and kitchen entry. He asks if breakfast can be ordered to go. Nodding, I hand him his wedge of bread and block of cheese wrapped in a yellow and white checked cloth napkin.