self portait

    I just realized that my computer has a camera...I am not gonna lie, I just spent the last half hour snapping pictures.

    Of myself. 

   By myself. 

   In a hotel room in DC...Pitiful, I know. Or maybe vain. 

  

   Probably both.  

   Anyway.

  Here I am, thinking very deeply. I am probably pondering the meaning of life, or trying to recall that Shakespeare sonnet I memorized years ago... 

  That is if I had memorized a Shakespeare sonnet years ago. Or ever.  

   And this is Broadway cheese, plain and simple, minus a gold hat and tails. Big smiles like this remind me of how, as a little girl, my pop always called me Wrinkle Nose when my face would split in a big grin. 
   There are some contenders that would say my pop called my sister Jenna Wrinkle Nose, but I maintain it started with me and became a repeat performance by the time my sister came along. 

   And the next--missing Drew? A little shy? A little bashful recalling how the last time we were together I broke out into tears because McDonald's had just stopped selling breakfast and McGriddles are some of my favorite guilty pleasures in the world.  

  

  Apparently they only serve breakfast till 11 on the weekends. And lucky for me it was a Tuesday. So I settled for chicken strips at 10:45 in the morning. 

  A little later, when I was halfway into those dry chicken strips, Drew asked me why I felt the need to lean over him and ask the drive-thru lady why they didn't serve breakfast until 11. He wondered, very appropriately (though I didn't see that at the time), what good could come of that. 

   My response? Tears. I was crying and there were little pieces of chicken flying out of my mouth and Drew earned a lot of credit by not laughing. Or being grossed out. Or telling me to grow up.

  I think the tears really came because I was sad to have to leave again. But eating chicken strips when I had enthusiastically prepared myself for a McGriddle was a huge disappointment.

  And here is the What the heck?! Am I really eating chicken strips for breakfast?! face. 

  Yeah, not cool.

    And then later on in the day, when I sent Drew a text, saying I was sorry for being such a wreck... 

   He just said, no problem. I miss you already.

   And this makes me glad, warm, content. 

  

    But McDonald's really should serve breakfast till 11 all the time. 

    Who has the time or wherewithal to keep track of whether or not it is the weekend?