No, not the jewelers. The lady who babysat me and my sister when we were little. Okay, I don’t remember the sitter’s name, but “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” is catchy—caught your attention.
One morning, Mom was running late for work, so she didn’t have time to feed us breakfast. She rushed us to the sitter’s house (whatever her name was!), who kindly fed us.
I knew we were in for a treat when “Tiffany” pulled a frying pan out of the cupboard, a carton eggs from the fridge, and bread from the box.
Eggs. Yum! The incredible, edible egg. I drooled as she cooked breakfast.
I sat in anticipation at the kitchen table, fork poised in my plump hand. I was so hungry, I wanted to snatch the plate from the kind lady’s hand and dive into my egglicious food.
I didn’t thank God for this blessed gift. I plunged the fork into yoke, a golden slimy stream spewed forth. I soaked up the runny treat with bits of buttered toast and stabbed the white albumin, then shoved the tasty victuals into my eager mouth. (My taste buds did the happy dance!)
Wait! I just got started and it’s gone? Surely I hadn’t eaten it already? With a final lick of egg drool off my lip, I raised by eyes and looked at my sister then to her plate of untouched food.
Why was she staring ashen faced at her plate? The two eggs stared back at her.
Ah! Poor dear. She hates eggs. The only way she can possibly worry down eggs if they are hard fried. For her to even look at over-easy eggs, much less eat them, is an invitation to hurl.
Mom would be horrified if my sister were so ungrateful as not to eat the food the sitter wasn’t obligated to provide us. At such a tender age I was forced into a difficult position. I could 1) come to the aid of my older sister and explain to our sitter that dear sis just couldn’t eat the eggs, thereby wasting the food, or 2) be heroic to save my mom embarrassment and my sister misery—eat the eggs myself.
I was about to grab the plate from my sister, when a light went on inside my greedy little head. Never one to waste opportunities to come out on top—especially when food is involved—I whispered to my sister, “If I eat your eggs, you have to do my house chores for a week.” Okay, so a three-year-old doesn’t have a lot of chores to do, but what else could I bargain with?
My sister exchanged our plates so fast, vertigo threatened to topple me off the chair.
I realized right then and there the power of food.
he he he
More Shine sisters food exploits to come!