Out for brunch with DadDad at a local diner frequented by me mum, many years ago. Â Therefore it’s a sentimental favorite. Â Pops reaches for something to sweeten up his coffee, and contemplates the various colored packets containing faux sugar.
“Let’s see: blue, pink, or yellow?” Â he asks no one in particular. Â I see the sugar jar next to him and ask the obvious question.
“Why not go for the real thing, Pops? Heck, you’re 89. Â I think you’re entitled to pull out all the stops now.”
He happily obliges, as the waitress approaches the table. Â I repeat our exchange to her.
“Eighty-nine? What’s your secret?” she asks.
He considers the question for just a moment as he stirs.
“Get up in the morning.”