As I do every morning, I walked up to my local deli on Friday morning for breakfast.
One large coffee, 24 ounces, and one bacon, egg and cheese sandwich on a poppy-topped hard roll. It’s been my morning routine for the better part of the last decade.
On this particular morning, however, I as I was pumping my coffee concoction — three parts Island Coconut, one part Hazelnut, I felt two sets of eyes burning into me from the chairs that sit adjacent to a counter where some people gather to eat, drink and share stories of their lives.
On this particular day, it was a mother and her two children sitting there, having their breakfast. The two kids, one boy, one girl, roughly between the age of four and six, I’d guess, were sitting there whispering to each other and staring a hole right into me.
As I moved from the coffee crafts to the Half and Half to top things off, I just jokingly said, “I have a feeling somebody is watching me.”
The kids, realizing they had been caught, quickly turned around.
The mother laughed and said, “They were trying to figure out if you were our family friend, George. It’s not George, is it kids?”
Both kids looked at me and shook their heads. Nope, I wasn’t, George.
“Phew,” I said to the three them. “I’m glad that’s all it was. I was afraid my psychosis had come back.”
And that’s why I love them.
They always laugh at my unique sense of humor.