Hamburgers
Ham gives me the creepies, yet a hamburger always seems wise. Even after intense paralysis, Mom could wrangle a hamburger for years, and if the scenario had been benevolent--she would've thrived, even after having endured a protracted beating throughout her life due to kindness, and being somewhat a ditz, but I've been there, adoring the masses without question.
She would come home from work sometimes a bit hot, saying: I wish I was a man today--I would've punched him out. Too, years of going into the workplace and being called a brown-haired midget.
I miss the hamburger. Needs red onion, salt and pepper of course, pickles, mustard, and I even like mayo--Im off the ketchup, baby. Took me years. I might go back. I just smelled some Folgers and awakened to the fact that I've been ignoring mustard. Jesus spoke of the mustard seed, yet not the ketchup seed. Look it up.
