“What do you want to do for Mother’s Day?”

Well, Banjo Man, I want to eat bacon.  I want to go out to breakfast and eat bacon.

“Okay.”  Banjo Man resisted telling me the evil damage that fried pork products could do to my health, but it was on the tip of his tongue, it really was.  “Okay,” he repeated.  “Any place in mind?”

I really want to go to the Pack River Store.  I really want to go to breakfast at the Pack River Store and eat bacon.  And I want to go out to breakfast at the Pack River Store at 8 AM so we can get a table and won’t have to wait outside while other people eat bacon.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to town for brunch?  Or lunch?  Or to the Floater for the Mother’s Day Brunch?”  I knew what he was thinking:  fruit.  Fancier places would have fruit and oatmeal and yogurt and egg-white omelets.

ARE YOU LISTENING??????!!!!!!  (I didn’t really yell at him, honest, but in my head it was a great big roar).  I really want to go to the Pack River Store.  I really want to go to breakfast at the Pack River Store and eat bacon.  And I want to go out to breakfast at the Pack River Store at 8 AM so we can get a table and won’t have to wait outside and smell other people’s bacon.

“Got it.”

Thank you, Banjo Man, for the bacon and the orange pancakes.