I was in New York City making french toast on a little griddle on the street cart. I put some in a big ziplock bag and brought it back to my hotel.
I was trying to remember which room I was staying in, I got all turned around because the building was remodeled while I was out working the food cart. The wallpaper was so tacky and the elevator didn’t have any buttons.
Angelina Jolie was there?
My “room” was gigantic. It was a whole apartment, which was good because my sister and her husband were going to meet up with me and stay there. There were shelves and shelves full of old trophies. Just outside my bedroom window, there was a football field with a marching band practicing their formations. That freaked me out a little so I went back to the living room area. I looked to the right and saw my grandma having a little nap in a chair, to the left was my… cousin? It was just a random little 9 year old boy in a soccer uniform and he was smoking a cigarette.
I pointed at him and said, “I am so disappointed in you! I am still going to be disappointed when I am 83 years old!”
He didn’t say a word. He just kept smoking.
I got the ziplock bag that was supposed to be full of french toast out of my purse so that everyone could have dinner. It had a mix of wheat thins, rice chex, and pillsbury biscuits. No french toast to be found. Everyone thought I was a liar.
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