The Breakfast Twin

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My Boy is a cook at MacDonald’s for the summer.

I occasionally (most days he works) turn up at the Golden Arches for a coffee or a smoothie.  Because the kitchen is open concept, I can watch him toiling while I await my order.  I don’t know why, but this makes me happy.

Yesterday he told me he knew I’d been in.

“You saw me at the counter?  Why didn’t you wave?”

“I didn’t see you,” he said, “but I made your Egg McMuffin.”

“I didn’t order an Egg McMuffin.”

“Someone ordered one with no butter or back bacon.  That wasn’t you?”

It’s heady stuff to learn I’m not some lonely weirdo who annoys restaurant staff with her complicated orders.  I have a breakfast twin!

 

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