"So, Bean," I ask, "what would you like for your birthday lunch and dinner?"
Her eyes light up. This is a family tradition; the birthday girl or boy gets to choose the day’s menu. She ponders.
"For lunch, French toast!" she announces, fairly crackling with joy. Then her expression shifts: now she is virtuous. "And for dinner, a good meal. You know, something you make that I won’t eat much of."
Daily Dose of Humble Pie
Honey, I Don’t Even Know How to Spell It
I Always Suspected that Cheery Demeanor Was a Ruse
Pot, Meet Kettle