By: Deanna Linder
When I was about eight years old, I decided to open a restaurant. It was called "Harrold's", and I have no idea where I got that name. The restaurant was located in my parents' kitchen and it consisted of one item on the non-existent menu: French toast with my "famous" secret sauce which was a very simple concoction of sugar, cinnamon and maple syrup. I had two clients who frequented the restaurant, my mom and my dad, and I must say they were very loyal. Funny how my older "too cool" brother decided he didn't want to dine at my restaurant now begs me to cook when I'm home visiting.
One day I got very upset at one of my loyal clients, my dad, after he asked if he could give me a kiss following his delicious meal. I angrily stated that restaurant goers typically don’t kiss the waitress/cooks, and being so distraught that I wasn't being taken seriously, "Harrold's" decided to close its doors for good.
There is something about breakfasts that to this day remind me of my...
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