This morning began like every other Sunday morning. We woke up, scrambled to get ready and swung by the drive-through of a popular fast-food-chain-whose-name-I-will-not-mention for breakfast on the way to church.
Grace was engaged in her new hobby, staring at my mouth while I shoved my biscuit in it.
When we had almost reached the church, J suddenly dropped his biscuit.
Me: What happened?
J: You don't want to know.
Me: But now I have to know. It couldn't be worse than what I am imagining.
J: Are you done with your biscuit?
Me: No, but you still have to tell me. What? A hair?
J: Um, not quite.
This little guessing game went on for quite a while as I went through the most horrible things that I could think of. Finally, I finished my biscuit and J relented.
J: There is a dead fly. In the biscuit. Baked in there. Staring at me. And I just about bit into it.
Ew ew ew ew ew!!!