When did toast become so CUTE?
In 1982 I had a roommate who ate peanut butter toast each morning. I did not know her well, or rather, she did not know me well since I moved in on her suddenly. Whoops! So… when she did things inexplicable, I let it go, or stored it away in my curiosity bin. Every morning she spread her toast with peanut butter and then spread, spread, spread, HARD, with the butter knife, top to bottom, head to toe, foundation to rafter, till her peanut butter was crumbed, and her toast was thin as cardstock. Smoking all the while.
I was learning to type on my baby blue Royal Safari and I clacked away, yakking and typing and watching the toast crumbs beg for mercy. Glance at the typing manual, listen to the scraping, glance, wince, glance, clack, scrape, clack, scrape, yak, long drag off the cigarette, clackety-clack.
Those were the days. The days of toast and smoke.
The Lunch Encounter 