On Saturday morning, Reid and I met Amanda for breakfast at Cora’s. It’s not a fancy restaurant but you do need to wait to be seated. We were early but I figured Amanda might have gotten there even earlier since she doesn’t have a tyke in tow. Now this is where I often have trouble. When we met, Amanda had blond hair but it’s been brown for at least four years. I have trouble remembering that and often describe her as blonde when asking for her at restaurants. On Saturday, though, I was visited by a flash of brilliance. I asked the hostess if she had seated a woman that looked like me. The woman grinned and knew instantly where to take. For those of you who haven’t seen Amanda, I’ll state the obvious, she looks a lot like me. People often ask us if we’re sisters or assume we are and speak to us accordingly. It was funny and effective.

Once we established that if Reid didn’t want to sit against the wall, I got to get in first, we settled down at the table. I ordered a breakfast that came with one egg, a cinnamon bun done as french toast and a great big mound of fruit. I, of course, gave Reid the egg which she quickly ate and then looked reproachfully at me upon the news that there was no more. She ate some cantaloupe, strawberries and grapes before noticing that I was dipping my fruit in English cream. I offered her some on her plate but she refused. Reid appropriated the little pitcher and a strawberry which she shoved down into the pitcher before proffering it and immediately going for another piece of fruit. As Reid held out the kiwi chunk, with English cream dripping from the second knuckle on three fingers and a thumb, I convinced her that I didn’t need anymore fruit. She is just too helpful, that girl of mine, but still I diverted her to eating some of the cinnamon bun.