Thursday August 11th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: the slice.

The rush only lasted 45 minutes at the bakery this morning, after which we still had a (yes, just one) cinnamon bun, half a dozen bagels, a dozen loaves of bread, and quite a few macaroons left. Of course all of that was sold (other than the last of the cookies) long before noon, but after yesterday's madness it felt almost... calm.

Spending tomorrow morning picking raspberries for Saturday's farmers market. Not sure how much is out there, but I'm mostly going there to sell peaches and apples, so I'm not too concerned.

Mine:

Every effort had been made in an attempt at equality. Tape measures had been brought forth, even scales had been put into use.

It was all, quite unsurprisingly, for naught.

"Carl's piece of birthday cake is bigger than mine!"

"No way! Peter's piece is even more huger than mine is!"

Truly, there was only one thing to be done.

"Dad!"

"Dad, no!"

"You can't eat them both!"

Clearly, I could do exactly that.