She wrinkled her nose.
“I don’t want that, you know,
peanut butter on my toast.
Just jam.”
Her right shoulder lifted to meet her ear in a half-way shrug.
“And, you know, don’t give me so many, you know,
little pieces like before.”
Hands raised palm-side up.
Surely I can get it right this time.
How hard can it be?
You know?