The Old Coot is decorated in crumbs.
By Merlin
Lessler
I’m a crumb
magnet. A similar sounding name to that of a Cro-Magnon, an early man that
didn’t make the final cut. But, that’s me, a crumb magnet. My clothes, shirts
and pants, but also shoes and socks end the day decorated with a variety of
crumbs: toast crumbs, bagel crumbs, lettuce bits (not technically crumbs) and
more, collect on my apparel. Whatever moves from plate to mouth scatters in
fear, I suppose, of being consumed. I look like Pig Pen, that Peanuts, Comic
Strip character, who lived in a swirl of debris.
But I’m not
just a crumb magnet; I’m a crumb disperser as well. Multitalented that I am. My
magnetism only reaches so far. The particles that don’t lodge on my clothes get
strewn to my surroundings. If I have a bagel in the Owego Kitchen for example, the
floor beneath my table looks like someone was feeding birds. I herd the crumbs with
my foot, over to the table legs, where they’ll be less conspicuous.
This doesn’t
work at home, where there is an area rug at my feet. It attracts the errant
crumbs; I have to grab the portable vacuum to hide the evidence, or be accused
of eating like a two-year-old.
I need to be
fitted with one of those wide brimmed, plastic pet collars that vets use to
keep a dog from chewing on a sore, or stitches from an operation. Wouldn’t that
be attractive! The only other option I’ve considered, is to eat inside a large
garbage bag. That would fix the messy floor problem, but I’d still have crumb
laden clothes to deal with. It’s a work in progress. I’m open to suggestions.
Comments? Be nice! Send to mlessler7@gmail.com
No comments:
Post a Comment