Dangerous Compassions

fancy lotion, muffin Mom, exotic waffles

We were at a restaurant, and Ming was eating a waffle.  It had a clump of butter on it, and a thing of syrup on the side.  “I wanna try your waffle,” I told him. Wow, it was delicious.  “Do you know how old I was when I had my first waffle?”

I’m thinking I was a teenager.  The family of my first husband had a waffle maker.  Waffles were an amazing, exotic thing.  They still seem pretty exotic and extravagant.

A new friend gave me some fancy lotion for Christmas.  It was grapefruit-scented.  The small lotion thing had pretty flowers on it and a black angular lid.  I thought it was too fancy for me and I shouldn’t have it or deserve it–I thought I should give it to someone else who could appreciate it better.

Then I changed my mind and loved its grapefruit scent, and it taught me some kind of lesson that I don’t need to go bougie but a nice lotion is not wasted on me.  My skin is dry–I live in the desert.  Why not.

That’s how I feel about waffles too.  Well, I’m at the beginning stage.  They seem too good for me.

I was working on the new vegan cookzine in the middle of the night, wrote a recipe and the intro, a essay about breakfast, and something about eating while disabled.  Felt good but how could I have this many zines going.  Dang.

Mom was talking about making pancakes.  I said pancakes are waffles’ awkward little sister.  But maybe we’ll make banana peach muffins.   She’s a muffin maker–we’ll see.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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