Sunday, January 11, 2015

Courtship Story #7 Stuckey's for Breakfast

Courtship Story #7 Stuckey’s for Breakfast
I was just beginning to get to know Mickey Phelps after avoiding him for about a year. Yes, I’d say hi and then literally run. He was a bearded red head like my ex husband. I did not want to go down that road again. It had taken the Lord a bit of time to convince me that I would not be going down that road again and that He was asking Mick and me to have a friendship.
In the beginning that prospect was about as tantalizing as a spoon of castor oil in the hand of a well meaning father. I was pretty good at backing off. Most recently we’d survived a movie and Chinese dinner together. Actually we laughed and talked – it really didn’t leave a bad taste in my mouth at all. The gentleman had asked me to go to breakfast with him later in that next week before my work day began.
“You have a guy here for you….” said one of my roommates as she waltzed into the room from the hallway.
“Hi – how about breakfast at Stuckey’s, its close and pretty fast?”
“Sounds great to me”
Mick opened the door to Brownie, his El Camino and I hopped in. We drove the few miles out the back of the Youth With a Mission ranch to the gas station mini-mart restaurant. Hum, there was a new sign and it was no longer Stuckey’s. Sometime when none of us were watching it turned into “Love’s”, no kidding.
Breakfast isn’t always easy for me because since I was a kid I have had an egg allergy. They have to be really, really well cooked for me to be able to eat them. The heat changes the protein that I react to and then I can have some.
We sat down and the waitress came to take our orders. I ordered fried eggs with the center broken and “cremated” – was the word I used….. cooked brown for clarification.
Mick ordered fried eggs over easy. This was going to be interesting. Ever since my well meaning aunt, who didn’t believe in food allergies, had made me eat two “slimy” – oh, I think her wording was “farm fresh eggs” I haven’t been able to even look at what I considered a half done egg. The sight and smell about pushed me over the edge. You’d think with all I did in nursing training that I would have gotten over that by now. Nope.
“Here you go, yours well done and yours sunny side up….”
Mick proceeded to take his knife and fork, even though they were worse than “over easy” and slice the mess up. I wanted to hand him a straw or get me a blindfold but I restrained myself.
We talked. I looked over to the door, then to the window and across to the counter which sold roll aids. Oh, I even remembered to take a bite of my eggs and swallow. The thoughts were running through my mind saying “whoa, how am I going to survive breakfast with this guy?” “those eggs smell like they are still clucking….” “oh, no, baby chicks….”
Then some of the yolk stuck in his mustache…..
“Why are you looking at me so funny?”
“Ahh, napkin? Egg in your beard…” and I got really busy putting jelly on my wheat toast.
He laughed and fixed the mess. “Hey, how would you like to go to church with me this next Sunday? Dave Wilkerson has a service in his warehouse that is really good.”
OK sounded safe enough, I had been to the Warehouse and they did not serve eggs. “You know, I have gone there before and it is really challenging. Good worship and great messages. Sounds like a good idea!”
(C) Marijo Phelps all rights reserved. Use with proper credits.



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