Tuesday Morning … Breakfast

Stayed up until rather late, but once again I awoke a little past seven o’clock, this morning. Still, I did my morning reading, and then made coffee just before Al’s alarm went off. This morning he took me up on my offer to make scrambled eggs for him and bring those along, too. I poured coffee for myself, but never got around to drinking it.

This morning’s breakfast included orange juice, plain omelet, seven blackberries and a sliced tomato. It was filling, so Samantha got pieces instead of leftover scraps from my plate.

plain omelet, sliced tomato, 7 blackberries, coffee and orange juice
Omelet for Breakfast

Last night we decided to go out to eat. The first Applebee’s Restaurant that we went into seemed to be having trouble with one of the air handling units in the kitchen; what we’d thought when we first walked in was “Oh, what wonderful smells of cooking onions!” But when we were seated (near the kitchen door), it became evident that there was smoke involved. I made my way unassisted to a comfortable chair near the door, while Al made our apologies to the floor manager.

The lure of Monday night’s $5.99 burger special was not diminished, however, and so we drove to another of the chain’s restaurants that was along the route home. There were no problems with air quality, and so we enjoyed a lovely meal.

Al considers pullover shirt and bluejeans to be a universally accepted wardrobe. That’s what we’re both used to wearing. Actually, aside from my long skirts for lounging and outdoor work, that’s what I’ve got in the closet besides the obligatory formal funeral skirts and jackets with sleeveless shells in various colors. With my shorter haircut (a quarter of an inch, rather than three eighths), black t-shirt from blood donation years, ratty looking bluejeans and an old shirt (which pretended to be a jacket to keep the rain off the t-shirt), and Al also wearing an old shirt and bluejeans, we must have looked like buddies, perhaps taking a break from cleaning the garage, to get a little supper. Our hostess greeted us with “Right this way, gentlemen!” as she escorted us to our table, and, on the way, looked at me and asked how our day was going. I, a contralto, responded, “It’s going good, thanks. And you?” I got an immediate apology and a very compliment on my summer haircut. We were amused, Al and I. Observed that it has to do with the length of hair; my ceasing to wear pierced earrings (2002) did not noticeably affect gender identification, all other things being equal. I do think the hostess’s response of an apology and her follow-up on my attempted icebreaker comment about our too often making assumptions without paying close attention was the most comfortable. A welcome change from the embarrassed silence and pretending it never happened.

That was a long way around. . . . I woke up today with chest congestion and irritation, expanded chest cage and inability to take a deep breath or to empty my lungs as fully as I needed to (animal fat smoke in the air at the first restaurant), and so I had to use the nebulizer, today. I still have 14 doses with an expiration date of June 2015 and 25 that expire in September. I needs must find a new doctor; Dan left Sanford in late June of last year.

The albuterol has made me sleepy. Think I’ll take advantage of that and take a nap, now.

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