“No, we have to go now!” My Dolly stood in front of me with that look on her face, insistent on going to the pet store. We inherited a few goldfish the day before, and they needed a place of their own. And food. Goldfish apparently don’t do well without it. She was very concerned.
I understood, but I happened to be standing there with a spatula in my hand. My non-transferable duties as Sunday morning short-order cook, however, could apparently be superseded under the right circumstances.
I should note that assignment of the short-order cook role is usually my own fault. Asking what anyone wants just gets me multiple answers, none of which appeal to anyone else.
But this morning, since I was the only one still in line for breakfast, I was promoted to chauffeur, and off we went.
I have a stand by for such situations: quick egg sandwiches. Easy, good for when I have only a couple of minutes, and much better than any fast-food versions.
So, once our new pets were swimming around their new tank, the immediate concerns were solved. I went back to being the cook, but only briefly.
Now, I have to figure out how to get through the Sunday paper in one shot.