There is a crispy-crunching sound from the other side of the computer.
The small Cantonese woman who lives with me has issued forth from her bedroom, and is eating garlic-flavoured shrimp chimps for breakfast. My guess is that she is not seeing her boy friend today. Or at least not this morning. He's a sensitive white guy, and would object strenuously to kissing a garlic pit.
As long as I've known her, Savage Kitten has had unusual food habits. Whereas, being white, mine are perfectly normal. Of course.
I actually do not eat breakfast. Strong coffee, news, tobacco, and a pit-stop in the small room for ablutory activity are enough to wake me up.
The cocoa-puffs, malt-o-bix, and fruitloops on top of the refrigerator are hers.
She also has a large container of oatmeal (bleah!) there.
It's probably a Cantonese American thing.
Shreddable breakfast!
Ever since I was a teenager the wake-up process has included a pipe full of tobacco, coffee, and news reports. Which is perfectly normal.
All rational middle-aged white dudes wake up with these things.
And then we energetically dance the tango.
We are full of piss and vinegar.
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