|I contemplate the filet that Dad surely was saving for me.|
Mom gets up, gives me the lickings from the serving plate. Phone rings. She again gets up, leaving half her filet on the table. The phone's for Dad.
Cellphone rings. It's my sister. Needs a ride.
The filet is still on the plate.
I mean, if no one else was planning to eat it, right?
Here's the rub: I was offered a ride in the C-A-R. Or vehicle, as they call it now that I can spell.
Ride? Filet? Ride? Filet?
Dizzy with this Hamlet-like dilemma, I raced to the garage door, back to the table, to the garage, to table...
whereupon I was lassooed and duly dragged to the C-A-R.
Vehicle, that is.